


Walk through the fire

by StormXPadme



Series: Tales Untold [7]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Animal Death, Arguing, Babies, Betrayal, Birth, Bisexual Male Character, Blackmail, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dogs, Drinking Songs, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Fights, Graphic Description of Corpses, Healers, Healing, Horses, Houses of Healing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Ithilien, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Marriage Proposal, Mearas, Medical Procedures, Memory Alteration, Minas Tirith, Murder, Near Death Experiences, Negotiations, Original Character Death(s), Poisoning, Pregnancy, Rebels, Riots, Serious Injuries, Stabbing, Third Age, Torture, based on movies and books except for the Hobbit movies, cair andros, referenced miscarriage, the epic tale of Aragorn being done with the whole family Oropherion's shit, white company
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28452558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/pseuds/StormXPadme
Summary: The hate of the King's enemies gains further ground in Gondor. When the Stewardaides threaten the elf settlement in Ithilien, Aragorn has to make a fatal decision …
Relationships: Aragorn & Original Female Elf Character(s), Aragorn | Estel & Erestor, Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Arwen & Original Female Elf Character(s), Denethor II & Faramir (Son of Denethor II), Erestor & Gimli, Erestor & Original Female Elf Character(s), Legolas Greenleaf & Tauriel, Legolas Greenleaf/Original Female Elf Character(s), Éowyn & Original Female Elf Character(s)
Series: Tales Untold [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559689
Comments: 46
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cover: http://racoonicorn.myartsonline.com/wttf.jpg
> 
> This is a translation of part #7 of one of my longest finished German fanfiction series (https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/462b809e0000161f06700fa0/1/Tales-Untold-WALK-THROUGH-THE-FIRE-7-). I am not a native speaker and apologize for any mistakes. The "Tales Untold"-series focuses much on Aragorn, Legolas and their respective relationships, but there's lots of other important plot lines coming into play, one of the biggest revolving around Glorfindel and Erestor.
> 
> The series combines the book verse with some circumstances from the movieverse, it ignores all of three of the Hobbit movies though (I wrote most of this series before those movies even were a thing). It's slightly non-compliant in places but I'm always trying to keep close to canon.
> 
> "Walk through the fire" is set in January of T.A. 3020, a few months after the War of the Ring.
> 
> Comments are more than welcome. I'm thirsting for them like so many others.
> 
> WHAT HAPPENED SO FAR:  
> Legolas has recently married a young healer elf from Lórien named Tarisilya that he had - secretly, for political reasons - been in love with for a thousand years. After the Battle of the Black Gate, Aragorn healed both Tarisilya from almost withering away and Arwen from a bad injury that has likely left her infertile. They traveled to Imladris so that Arwen's family could try to further heal her. Tarisilya became pregnant after the wedding but lost the baby in a battle in Rohan. In Aragorn's absence, a group of enemies named Stewardaides formed in Gondor who rather want to see Faramir rule Gondor. After Aragorn was crowned King, they kidnapped and tortured Arwen before Aragorn and Legolas could free her.
> 
> Erestor and Glorfindel meanwhile are trying to deal with the realization that there's far more than physical attraction between them. Erestor was meant to join Glorfindel in Imladris' army recently, but upon learning about the Stewardaides, Elrond sent Erestor to Minas Tirith to help Aragorn solve this crisis.
> 
> So - happy new year to all you lovely lot! So here we are - now fluffy times are DEFINITELY over. With all preparations done in the last few series parts and all the foreshadowing, I am STUPIDLY excited for you all to see things unfold now. I hope you will enjoy this part as much as I do!
> 
> ALSO - well SURPRISE? Believe me, it definitely was one for me. Tauriel who is mentioned here in person for the first time (some readers have already met her in Imladris though, at the wedding preparations ;)), is of course a well-known character from the Hobbit movies. Now, it's no secret that I personally have little love for those movies. I very much DO like the idea of Tauriel though. Besides, I had a redhaired character similar to her in this series long before those movies came out. So I decided to merge those two characters, to give Tauriel some space in this project and make her what I wish she'd been in canon. And she's definitely not going to be a stay-at-home-mom, don't worry. Tauriel in this version has been married to the Imladris elf Camhanar for a while who was first namedropped in series part 1 and properly mentioned in series part 2. He helped Elrond forge Andúril.

_T.A. 3020  
_

**_W_** ith how endlessly difficult it had been, saying good-bye to his hobbit friends in the previous fall, Aragorn had actually thought, the post-war era couldn't become any worse for him. Letting the halflings go had already torn his heart in two, though, of course, he hadn't failed to notice that they'd been downright ill with homesickness at the end. It was about high time that the little heroes could properly recover from the scares of the War of the Ring in the unspoiled remoteness of the Shire.

In fact, Aragorn should have accompanied them. After everything they had done for this world, it would have been his job to take them home safely. That would have meant another long journey west though, after the first one he'd taken shortly after the war; his duties just hadn't allowed that. He needed no nagging members of his folk or a constantly ill-humored elvish advisor to be aware of that. So all he'd been able to do was relying on his capable soldiers to not leave the hobbits out of their sight for even a second until they were back where they belonged. And hope that he himself would find time for a trip to the Shire in the foreseeable future.

While there were already concrete plans in existence to make the land a protected enclave that soon no man would be allowed to enter anymore, the hobbits had declared more than once that this ban would never include their Ring Companions and their families, and that they would have been highly offended if Aragorn would never visit them in their home.

Given an opportunity for that would actually knock someday – not exactly an encouraging thought.

Every time Aragorn walked the road from the city gate up to the Citadel, he remembered that day, when he had once more sent away four friends, possibly for many long years. He remembered how alone he had felt back then, in spite of Gimli's and Arwen's silent and similarly somber support, how heavily the loneliness had once more weighed down on his shoulders because he'd soon not have any of these very special friends with him in Gondor anymore that he had gone through one of the worst times of his life with. That did even hurt when you had the most wonderful partner by your side. Especially since due to the still pending legality of their relationship, the court etiquette bid him keep his distance from her most of the time.

That another Companion had not been present this morning either had hurt as well, especially since that person wasn't even staying that far away from Minas Tirith … and yet further than ever, it seemed.

Since the terrible events surrounding his coronation and Arwen's kidnapping, Aragorn had hardly heard from Legolas, except for a few very neutrally worded written reports. The Crown Prince of Eryn Lasgalen being one of his best friends among the elves who had been a loyal sidekick in fight and suffering for decades, Aragorn missed him more every day.

Getting lost in dark contemplations like these, Aragorn happened to occasionally miss something else on his usual morning walk. Today, it was said elvish advisor.

He wouldn't even have recognized him if Erestor hadn't shouted something at one of the mannish workers in his smoky, deep voice. Only now, it dawned on Aragorn that this shape by the edge of the moat, wrapped in shabby working clothes and littered in countless mud stains, was an elf.

The corners of his mouth twitched; he could barely keep from breaking into laughter.

The last time he'd enjoyed such a sight had been in Lord Elrond's forge when he had been young. Elves with tied-back hair and dirt in their faces could almost make you forget which folk they descended from – if one failed to notice the uncompromising authority that Erestor radiated even in this condition, that neither any of the men close by nor the few dwarves who'd joined them, dared to rebel against. It made an impression even on critics of certain elvish philosophies if someone was able to tear a pipe from the icy ground with his bare hands to get to the bottom of stubborn blockages with one naked, delicate arm while they were either busy spitting out dirt or bark orders back over their shoulder.

"You don't have to do this, Lord Erestor. I hope you know that."

Aragorn shortly nodded at the citizens who bowed to him in awe and knelt down next to Erestor so no one would hear his quietly uttered words. "You're in Minas Tirith as my helper, not as a worker."

"To the citizens, I am, Your Majesty." Erestor put his rake aside for a moment and wiped his cheek with the coarse fabric of his sleeve but only achieved increasing the size of the black dot there.

Although the two of them had known each other since Aragorn's childhood in Imladris, he, as well, automatically used the required polite form of address, as he always did in public; just one of the many details regarding keeping formalities that he frequently reminded Aragorn of with the necessary strictness. Much like in more than one history lesson in the past. "How believable is my role as leader of the elvish helpers in the city if I only spend time in the Citadel? Don't worry, Your Majesty. This is not the first time I'm working with tools. It actually does me good. Do you think I've spent all my life organizing Lord Elrond's library? Not to mention …"

His eyes wandered to the workers who pretended to be especially busy with the repair of the wall. "Here's where I learn most about what people think of you."

"And what is that?" Aragorn asked with a weak smile.

The road blockade from when he'd returned from Arwen's rescue had fortunately not happened again, and for now, no new pamphlets had emerged either. But the number of people cheering when he took a stroll on foot or went for a ride was still limited.

Aragorn didn't need admiration or even worship; that wasn't what was bothering him. It rather worried him that peoples' mood which had changed so quickly thanks to the lies of the Stewards, was still colored by so much suspicion against himself. Especially in this difficult first time of reconstruction and the crucial reapproach to Arnor that he hadn't made even a bit of progress with so far, he would have needed people's support more than ever.

At least today, there weren't any really bad news from his advisor. "Prince Faramir moving to Emyn Arnen was the best thing that could have happened to you." Only the way Erestor was tiredly leaning against the slope down to the ditch revealed that he'd apparently been standing here since the break of dawn already.

"People begin to understand, you're not depending on your Steward. They would like to meet you a little more often, but a majority of reasonable voices know, you can control the works best from the Citadel. The country is starting to recover, and the people in it have noticed. They're ready to wait and see how things under your leadership will develop in the next few months and years. A few are skeptical about Arnor but that's due to centuries of ignorance and natural fear of the unknown. If the residents of your other realm will be ready to approach Gondor again one day, Gondor's people will be, too. Most of them keep on trusting your judgment. Except for curious questions about the lady that you're regularly having dinner with, there are only a few critical words on the streets right now."

"As long as they're only being curious and not insolent, I'm alright with that." This time, Aragorn couldn't bite back a grin. "Such conversations are probably more about what said lady is doing in my private chambers at these dinners, or in the afternoon."

Seeing Erestor expression darkening immediately, he held up one hand in reassurance. "Don't worry about possible rumors regarding that. There's always at least one other person present who can testify that nothing but conversations is happening. People are probably more disappointed that they don't get to hear anything scandalous from gossiping handmaidens. Members of the court have become careful about what is being shared with outsiders anyway. No one wants to tell the wrong person anything important. It makes me sleep better, too."

"Better don't think yourself safe yet, Your Majesty." Erestor stared at Aragorn with his piercing dark eyes as if he wanted to look right into his soul. "Right now, it's being calm, but that doesn't mean it will stay that way. Or that the one who brought you these rotten apples back then is no longer at your court. The Stewardaides may have retreated from Minas Tirith after you struck back, but you're dealing with extremely fanatic members of your folk. I can only keep on strongly recommending you not to leave the city recklessly until the voices of unrest have fallen silent."

He didn't wait for a reply but pointed at the greyish, slowly flowing water. "If you're here for that: This area, unfortunately, hasn't fully recovered from the wounds of war yet. Far too much dirt still ends up in the waters, clogging the supply pipes. But since, at least here, reconstruction is as good as finished, hope is justified that we'll be rid of that problem soon. The fields are the problem. The sparse harvest, and the water from North-Ithilien that is still dangerously unclean on some days and that even affects this city. Much of the livestock had already perished before the people of Prince Legolas could clean the first fountains. Supplies are getting short. The season is colder than many previous winters were, and it's far from over."

"I know." Aragorn rubbed his forehead with a sigh. Hearing the same thing almost every day didn't change anything about the problems. "I'm doing what I can. My soldiers are bringing my orders to the surrounding areas as we speak. Any leftovers from anywhere will be given to those who need them. And a message will soon reach Imladris in which I requested new shoots and seeds for next year."

"The answer won't take long. Lord Elrond always talks about you with much affection and pride. As he should, I may add. You have always been a very quick learner; nothing changed about that." That had been the shadow of a smile, Aragorn was almost certain.

"I'm sure you will weather these difficult first few years. Imladris will do its best to help you with that, just like your resourceful assistance in North-Ithilien does." A hint of irony regarding this subject accompanied the last words that Aragorn didn't notice for the first time. Not every elf was happy about Legolas' plans for his settlement. Too many of them were yearning to make their journey to the west and were partly being held back by the few of their kin who weren't ready for that yet.

Though this dividedness hurt Aragorn … That matter was none of his business, and meddling with it was not for him.

Sensing that, Erestor quickly changed the subject. "Since Prince Faramir and his wife just arrived in the city for a visit: Maybe it's time for a meeting with all your advisors."

"I'll schedule one at noon," Aragorn agreed. Though he was more a man of action and not of endless discussions: That had indeed been overdue for a while now.

Erestor nodded, satisfied, a gesture already interrupted in its early stages by a bright signal sounding from the fortress walls. Long-drawn-out and not too pompous but all the more memorable if one knew what it meant. The fanfare of the very elves who had chosen Cair Andros as their base in Ithilien not too long ago. "Even more noble visitors, apparently."

Aragorn's cautious anticipation of a possible reunion immediately turned to worry at his arrival in the Citadel when the guards told him that the visitor had been taken to the Houses of Healing. With his heart beating wildly, he ran to the sixth city level.

For a moment he didn't know whether to feel relief or shock when he entered the room that the healers pointed out to him and, contrary to what he'd more or less feared, he didn't find Legolas in the bed there.

While it was indeed Tarisilya sitting by some elf's side, it wasn't her husband that she just started to take care of with her skilled healer hands, her face a shade paler than usual.

Thondrar.

"You have to send someone, Your Majesty, immediately." Tarisilya's voice trembled more than Aragorn had ever heard it when she was treating a patient, even back then when it had been that little boy from the fire attack who had become the first casualty in the Stewardaides Crisis in the end. A defeat that the comparatively still so young she-elf hadn't even started to recover from. And now it was these rebels again who were making life hard for her; Aragorn already knew before he'd heard anything more.

The she-elf fidgeted around with a sharp medical knife and Thondrar's right leg, her hands and her clothes red-stained, to get the tip of a broken arrow out of his flesh. Her patient's occasional moans didn't draw more than an impatient huff from her. " _You_ didn't want numbing herbs. _Keep still_! Are you _trying_ to lose even more blood? It's a mystery to me how you even made it here."

"I had to," Thondrar answered through clenched teeth.

"There was no one else left, you know. Your enemies, Estel." He turned to Aragorn, visibly plagued by a bad conscience.

"It seems they used the last months to improve their fighting skills. They kept their heads down as long as Prince Faramir and his royal household were busy getting settled in Emyn Arnen. But now that the majority of Faramir's soldiers are staying in South-Ithilien, far from Cair Andros, and the Rangers aren't around anymore either, I guess they didn't want to wait anymore. The moment Prince Faramir left for Minas Tirith, these insane people chased a pack of wargs to the first foundations of our settlement. They attacked when we were still busy killing the last animals and threatened the weaker members of the group too quickly to take all of these bastards out before they started taking them away." Anger on himself shone in his bright eyes. "We should have been prepared …"

He stopped with a quiet scream when Tarisilya grabbed his hip a little too roughly – on purpose, as Aragorn had to suspect –, to put an end to these useless self-reproaches.

"Why don't you ask yourself later what the weaknesses of your defense are? It's more important that we help your people. Where's Legolas? He surely must have led the counterattack, didn't he?"

Aragorn started to pace between the few pieces of furniture of the small room, restlessly stroking his beard. In his head, he was already busy visiting the lands of Ithilien and possible hideouts for a big group and planning the search for the missing people and his enemies. For the first time since the end of the war, he deeply regretted most of his Dúnedain not being available right now as they were busy in Arnor. These people would have been suited best for jobs like this.

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be here." Thondrar's forehead was covered in sweat from the effort of suppressing the pain that was visibly growing worse by the second.

"During the battle with the wargs, he was suddenly gone. I thought he'd ridden here to get reinforcements," he added apologetically when he saw a growing worry fill Tarisilya's green brown eyes. "But he's probably let himself be taken prisoner to protect the rest of us, just like the other warriors."

"I can't feel anything," Tarisilya explained anxiously before Aragorn had done more than look her way. "We never had a chance to properly train our mental connection to each other, as you know."

"Don't fret, milady. If these men had it in them to kill themselves, they wouldn't have used the wargs. They probably want the same as last time: Information that they won't get from us, and that the King gets himself into danger. Predictable, but we just were overwhelmed. Too many untrained elves and she-elves have arrived in the settlement in the last weeks to help us heal nature. We couldn't protect all of them at once. We should have known it was too early." This time, Thondrar interrupted himself. That didn't change anything now.

"I have to get back. They can't have made it far."

"You're not going anywhere," Tarisilya snarled at him. "You could have died, in case you haven't noticed. You've got more luck than sanity; the arrow missed the arty by less than an inch. With all that muscle- and tissue damage, you're not getting on any horse for the next two months."

"Nonsense." A sneer on his lips, Thondrar straightened up before the bandage was even finished. "Patch me up and give me a functioning bow. Do you think I will let that slide? Losing sight of my leader alone forbids me to take any breaks. If His Majesty is friendly enough to provide us with a couple of men, I will be leading them."

" _You will stay_!" It was usually not Aragorn's place to talk like that to someone like Thondrar who had earned his reputation as a fighter of mithril far beyond Imladris … by moves just as courageous as insane, like skewering a troll from below or living in an orc-camp unrecognized for two weeks to free a handful of comrades – _those_ scars were still visible to the naked eye when he was wearing as he was little as right now. And Aragorn had been deeply appreciating this extremely ambitioned elf, so tortured in numerous ways, since his own time in Lord Elrond's house.

But the hurt pride of a Firstborn really was the most unimportant thing right now. "I won't let you go to any battle like that. You will collapse and your companions will have to protect you then. If you leave, you won't do it under the banner of Gondor or as a leader of its soldiers."

He paused for a moment but then raised his head in determination, meeting the patient's furious eyes. There were certain elves, you couldn't deal with any other way. "When this is over, I don't want to have to give your body to your father. My friendship to him and to you, as well, is too big for that."

The answer was silence, as usual when someone tried to address Thondrar's ancestry that only very few outside Elrond's family knew about. That he yielded for the moment also didn't mean, he would lay around here forever.

Well, hopefully at least long enough to end this crisis without him, too, no matter how little he might love that. "Besides you might have known the woods of Ithilien well in the long-lost past, but no one can say more about what it's like there today than men who spent half their lives there. When the Steward's people have last intervened in such a crisis, they might not have succeeded, but today, their leader will come along." Actually, Aragorn was reluctant to make such a decision without asking Faramir first, but he didn't have a choice. This time, this was about more than a single person in danger. The Stewardaides had begun this battle once more, and Gondor would fight back with all it had.

Aragorn yearned to personally go help Legolas and his inferiors; but just like at Arwen's kidnapping back then, he wouldn't be able to right away.

This conflict was taking place in the area that Aragorn had put Faramir in charge of after his coronation. This matter was the duty of the Steward, though Aragorn and he would both probably have loved to trade spots.

Maybe Aragorn should indeed have waited a little longer to order Faramir to send his Rangers to Rohan, so they could help Éomer wipe out the last groups of enemies there. Their knowledge about even the most remote corners of Ithilien would have been of great use right now.

But that, too, couldn't be changed now. They would have to make it alone.

He yearned to give Tarisilya a little more comfort, but one of his advisors was already standing at the door, clearing his throat. There was not a second to lose.

So he only put a heavy hand on the she-elf's shoulder, eying her enquiringly until she nodded at him in agitation; then he hurried outside towards the White Tower of Ecthelion.

" _You're_ not going to do anything rash either, Your Highness. Are we clear on that?" As soon as they were alone, Thondrar tilted Tarisilya's lowered head up admonishingly by her chin, like he so often did when giving her necessary advice. "Waving around a dagger in the King's garden a little doesn't get you ready for a fight in the least. Give me a few hours of rest, then I'll bring your husband safely back to you. Didn't I promise you that at our last good-bye?"

"Which is why I'm surprised, you arrived here alone." It slipped from Tarisilya's mouth before she could restrain herself. She realized that she was being damn unfair right now. From how Thondrar had described the situation, he couldn't have done anything more than he'd reluctantly brought himself to already, making the necessary escape here.

But with his words, her old friend from Imladris had both hit the mark exactly and touched a sore spot. The conflict of not being allowed to prove herself as a warrior, since that was somewhat unusual for she-elves – especially for healers –, had defined her life ever since Tarisilya's childhood. On days when she wished more than anything to be able to help out beings that she loved, it was downright tearing her apart.

She had to get out of here before she would say something even unkinder. In spite of the pain in her heart, she still had that much rationality at least. She had to do some thinking now.

Drawing herself away with a jerk, she strode outside with long steps. "Do what you think is right. So will I."

What little time passed until the departure of the first soldiers wasn't enough to calm Tarisilya down. When she approached the handful of riders in dark grey armor who were getting ready by the stables on the sixth level, her thoughts were anywhere but with her duties in the Houses of Healing that she usually took so seriously.

"Please don't fret too much, milady." Faramir waved her aside for a moment. "I sent word to Emyn Arnen already. More members of the White Company will spur their horses to a fast gallop and join us before we even reach Cair Andros. Together, we will easily destroy these rebels."

"Is it that easy for you to take people out who are worshipping your name so much, Steward?"

The provocative question caused an unexpectedly harsh reaction. Within split seconds, the kind aura of a Prince living in remoteness on a chain of hills vanished, replaced by the one of Gondor's military leader in war, who had tried to reconquer Osgiliath with far too few men. "I don't want this worship! I never did! Do you think a man to be that easily susceptible? That only elves have the will to resist temptation?" Faramir only seemed to realize that he'd almost screamed his last words when the other riders looked up from their preparations in astonishment.

He forced himself to relax his fists, to brush a strawberry blond strand of hair from his eyes that had been perfectly in place, to begin with. "That I'm not always sharing His Majesty's opinions doesn't change anything about my loyalty and my friendship to him. If certain people refuse to understand that and rather solve their problems with their sword, I will not hesitate to raise mine either."

"Just determination won't help you in this case." Tarisilya wasn't ready to let that conversation end so quickly. "We have no idea what's going on out there. Thondrar can't even tell if all of them have been taken prisoner. A few of the elves might have fled to a shelter. And I don't know what happened to my husband. But our mental marriage bond might work once I'm getting close enough to him. Do you even have a plan about where to begin your search? I might."

"If you're hoping for me taking you along, I'll have to disappoint you." Faramir got up on his horse. "Though your husband has sadly neglected it so far to officially introduce himself and his whole group to me in Emyn Arnen, I have a pretty good idea what he would think about me leading you into battle. I can handle a bow myself, but not even I can dodge the arrows of the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen. Besides, you're wrong."

Faramir nodded at another rider joining the soldiers. "We know where we have to begin. We have a guide coming with us."

Tarisilya gasped when she recognized the tall, grey Mearh-stallion that Éomer had entrusted her with, in Rohan back then when she had left her mare with him so it could be covered. With two steps, she was beside Tercelborne, grabbing his reins. Anyone else trying to take her horse without asking would have made her just as angry, but _this_ special sight was too much for her nerves.

"What are you doing?" She was two seconds from propelling Erestor from the saddle by force, though admittedly, her chances to actually achieve that were low.

Then again, who knew, with Tercelborne keeping on bracing up against the bit like so unwillingly, throwing his head up, again and again, trying to bolt aside ... It was probably only Tarisilya's proximity that stopped him from trying to unseat his unloved rider anyway. One would assume that someone like Erestor who'd appropriated so much knowledge over several Ages, should be aware that Mearas usually carried only families of Kings and elves of high nobility. Exceptions like Tarisilya's own mare and its twin brother were rare.

"There was no time for a written inquiry in triplicate to you," Erestor answered unblinkingly. "He's the fastest horse here right now, so get him to do as he's told, will you? Do you want the others to get help as quickly as possible or not?"

"Why do _you_ care? When did you start giving a damn about how our people are faring out there?" Tarisilya had reached a point where every emotional calmness taught over centuries had been obliterated. Her voice was trembling with anger, with worry, with everything that had happened in the last few months and that Erestor's sudden arrival in Minas Tirith had only made worse. "When my husband last needed help, you had more important things on your mind too, didn't you?"

" _That's enough_!" Erestor ungently grabbed Tarisilya's shoulders so that she couldn't just hurry off like in the last conversations of this sort. The murmurs of the soldiers about that treatment, he ignored completely. "Yes, I have made a premature, emotional judgment back then. That was a mistake that I never tried to cover up. Not even Prince Legolas bears a grudge against me for that. The only one who always wanted to interpret jealousy into a long-closed matter is _you_. Go ahead, hate me for all eternity. You really give me no reason to beat myself up over that. But I will not sit around here and wait for news when innocent, helpless elves are in the hands of such criminals."

Only now, he finally let go of her and put on the helmet laying on the saddle, slightly clumsily, completing the armor that Erestor must have borrowed in a hurry, judging by the much too broad chest plate. "This isn't even about your husband who apparently hasn't learned how to take care of himself in all of his three thousand years. In fact, what I actually think is that he's not being with the group because he learned from the mistakes that he's made after the war and doesn't want to be responsible for another baby's death. Especially not when one of his closest friends is its mother."

Tarisilya tumbled back as if the words had hit her like arrows to her chest. That was exactly how it felt. "What did you say?" Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. Her face color was probably competing with the city walls right now.

Erestor eyed her with the same deep sadness that he had regarded her with before the hobbits' departure when he had thrown in her face that she let only Legolas' wishes still keep her on Middle-earth.

"You're even more alone than I thought. He didn't even help you with that. He really _is_ his father's son. Many centuries ago, you opened your heart to me, Tarisilya Vandriniel. That you changed your mind later doesn't mean I've forgotten everything. If one knows how to listen to what you're not saying, it's no secret what happened to you on your journey west. Something like that will not happen again. Not because some elves insist on keeping on ignoring the Valar's call and throw themselves into a hazardous endeavor in North Ithilien. Even when they're carrying a child in their belly that's exposed to such strains defenselessly. They arrived a few days ago," he added upon Tarisilya's expression growing more shocked by the word, audibly angry about such carelessness. "Camhanar actually wanted his wife to stay in Imladris at least until she'd give birth, but she insisted on coming along. Must be the Mirkwood impulsivity in her blood, I guess, even after all this time."

"Tauriel …" Even Erestor's hurtful words paled upon learning that a heavily pregnant she-elf was affected by this attack. A she-elf that Tarisilya had talked to very little at her wedding in Imladris, but of whom Legolas had been speaking all the more often since then.

The two might not be as close as they'd used to be since Tauriel had packed her things and moved into Lord Elrond's valley, after an argument with Legolas' father. But he was often missing her and had been very delighted that she'd wanted to help him out in Ithilien. It was probably understandable that Legolas – just like Thondrar who knew about Tarisilya's miscarriage as well – hadn't wanted to tell Tarisilya about these sensitive new arrivals in passing.

But that Erestor hadn't shared this knowledge with her was just another point on the list of reasons why she usually steered clear of him.

Unfortunately, she'd just looked at him for a few seconds too long and noticed that his rough features were colored even a shade more whitish than usual. No matter how much she hated this elf: This was the first time in centuries that they were agreeing on something.

Without even thinking about it for another second, Tarisilya took Tercelborne's head between her hands and whispered a few soothing words in Sindarin to him, explaining to him that this was a serious crisis, that beings important to her were in danger.

Only when the animal – still visibly reluctantly – started to cede to Erestor's slightly harsh hand, trying to find the bit, she looked up again. "You have to help her … Tauriel hasn't been wielding a weapon in decades, has she? Legolas could never forgive himself this …"

"As I said … There won't be another tragedy as in Rohan, Ilya." Erestor seemed to know for a change that he hadn't been exactly tactful and spared Tarisilya more comments and even a farewell.

He followed Faramir's troops without looking back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick reminder as slowly the pieces are starting to connect: The black water that Faramir and his men are encountering here is the same that Aragorn and Legolas have found in Ithilien when searching for Arwen in series part #6 ... I am once again stupidly excited about this chapter because you will finally get to know the background of a lot of things, and I really hope you'll enjoy it.

To Aragorn's mild surprise, no one in the advisor meeting raised a negative voice today. The men backed Aragorn's decision to not leave the city himself fully. Not least because they'd been vigorously recommending that since Arwen's kidnapping.

That the Steward, a man just as valuable for the realm, was in charge of the plan, was met with less enthusiasm.

But it was about high time that Faramir let the Stewardaides unmistakably know what he thought about their actions. There was no one else who could go on this quest.

None of that made Aragorn want any less to go change clothes right now though, to shoulder his bow, gird Andúril and run to the stable to get Brego. Sitting around and waiting for news to be brought to him was the exact thing he'd always dreaded when thinking about his reign.

It should have been a relief, watching the soldiers ride off across the snow-covered plains from the city walls, bracing himself against the frost-coated rock with heavy fists. Instead, it only caused more feelings of guilt. He hadn't accepted this crown as an excuse to escape duties that had defined decades of his life. Now it made him a kind of prisoner of his own home a second time.

Only when he heard Arwen's almost inaudibly steps behind him, he forced himself to relax his posture and his face. Consciously focusing on his outer composure helped the storm inside of him subside as well as it did so often, even before Arwen had said one word of comfort or put a supportive hand on his shoulder.

Aragorn took it gratefully and pressed a short kiss to her forehead when he saw the fear for one of her best friends darken her deep blue eyes, not giving a damn about a potential audience in the courtyard for the moment. "They'll be back soon, I'm sure." It didn't sound horribly convincing.

Arwen's beautiful, full lips tightened to a frustrated line when she followed his look downward. "You could at least have asked me. I would have got Alagas immediately." But it didn't sound like she was being serious about her protest; for that, fortunately, his partner was far too reasonable, thanks to her much longer life experience. She knew exactly that in spite of her newly resumed combat training, she wasn't fit enough for a potential battle yet. Her much too thin shape in a long, green dress revealed that alone.

Arwen had finally recovered from the wounds sustained at the Black Gate and during her kidnapping, but not from her body reacting more and more like a woman's in various regards, after her decision against the immortality of an elvish life. She was sleeping and eating too little and too irregularly. Nightmare phases, caused by both of them knowing very well that they weren't entirely safe in the Citadel, did the rest to keep her from being a hundred percent well again. By understanding that, no matter how grudgingly, she was taking at least one of Aragorn's worries away.

"I know you would, mîl nín, and Legolas also knows. It hopefully won't become necessary though."

But now Aragorn had to turn away from her. He'd never been good at lying to Arwen.

"You don't even believe that yourself, do you, Estel? Just closing our eyes won't solve anything right now."

Arwen let go of Aragorn because her sharp ears picked up the scurrying steps of some court ladies' high heels in the distance, their high-pitched, often slightly childish laughter. No need to deliver further updates to the gossip factory. After all, by mannish standards, the two of them still weren't even officially betrothed; there just hadn't been any time for such festivities recently, and Arwen hadn't felt well enough for them.

She crossed her arms on the ice-cold railing with a sigh, glad that she had remembered to put on her thickest coat earlier. Her first winter in this condition was physically challenging enough, especially when she was freezing on the inside, too. It was in such moments that she yearned for Aragorn's embrace most.

"I'm just trying not to get too tempted to join Faramir. I've been idle for far too long. I finally have to stop these bastards who poison my people and threaten everyone close to me." Aragorn banged down a flat hand on the massive wall firmly enough for the ice there to shatter and a few drops of blood from small cuts to drip on it. Which of course didn't help anything. Being a King without an heir, Aragorn couldn't risk his life recklessly. Especially not as long as due to Arwen's injury, it wasn't even certain that they would ever be able to have children.

Obviously searching for a distraction, he looked at her dress from the corner of his eyes, just as costly wrought as practical. Today, he was not wasting any time with praising her very carefully built public appearance though, which, thanks to body-hugging cuts and her hair always being worn loose, differed from the Gondorian style just enough to satisfy people ... and to occasionally inspire them to imitate it. "Did you bring the dagger?"

"Oh please. As if I'd ever leave the house without one again." Arwen's fingertips instinctively stroked her dress, gliding over her right thigh, right where the non-transparent fabric was hiding a holster. The narrow handle made from rare wood and the blade with elvish symbols on it revealed at first sight that the dagger came from the forge of her own people in Imladris.

Arwen's father couldn't have told her any clearer than with that gift how worried he was because of the incident in Ithilien. It had taken Arwen a long letter to convince him to not immediately come here again, as Elrond was being needed in his own valley just as much right now.

That Arwen had once hoped to not have to carry _any_ weapon at all anymore after the Battle of the Black Gate felt like an eternity ago, though she actually did loathe violence just as much as most elves did.

After her mother had been assaulted by orcs and left these realms, she had turned to it anyway. She had never been too keen on that healer training that had originally been destined for her anyway. And the day when she would end that career, seemed to recede more and more into the distance.

"Come on then. Standing around here isn't helping anyone." Aragorn hurried off with a jerk, only waiting for her to follow him at the bottom of the stairs to the White Tower.

Upon arrival at the door of his chambers, he sent the guard there away with an impatient gesture of his head.

The curious glance that the soldier took back over his shoulder, didn't come as a surprise.

"I'll have to disappoint you: In a situation like this, I certainly have _other_ things on my mind," Aragorn snapped coldly.

With a blush on his face, the man hurriedly left his post.

Arwen spared herself a critical comment. Sparring with her would hopefully help her partner to let off some steam. And her slightly rusty skills could only benefit from that, no matter how much gossip there would be once more about this in the laundry shops and the kitchen tomorrow.

Today, Aragorn seemed exceptionally satisfied with how well Arwen was doing, and with her not coughing or being out of breath even a single time when they were circling each other, repeatedly blocking each other's strikes in the last moment or taking each other down, wrestling until one of them had to give up.

That Arwen had to yield far more often than in the past, with Aragorn's arm pressed against her throat, or that he had to yank back his blade before it could possibly cut her throat open, was something she had to start accepting. Not being equipped with supernatural strength and speed anymore needed to become the smallest worry in her life, and using her former knowledge in this slightly compromised body, her main goal.

Panting after Arwen's last firm shove that had probably left at least one bruise on his chest, Aragorn finally pulled her in his arms, putting away his weapon. "Thank you. I think I needed that more than you did. Now that the Stewardaides are suddenly attacking so openly again …" He sounded frighteningly clueless for his usual determination. "I have a feeling that there will be even more bad things happening soon. I'm glad that you're being so well prepared for them."

"We'll get through this, mîl nín, I promise." Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Arwen kissed him lovingly, tenderly grazing his lips with the tip of her tongue, making full use of the precious moment.

The sound of someone clearing their throat coming from the door had her spin around in surprise.

Aragorn's first advisor Verilas eyed them with a meaningfully raised eyebrow but then hurried to take a bow towards them. The elderly, grey-haired man, a little frail by nature, was wheezing a little more deeply than usual; he must have been running.

"Please forgive the interruption. One of the soldiers came back from Ithilien. He just passed the city gate."

"Already? I'll be right there."

Aragorn took a look back at Arwen. It was plain to see that he hated leaving her alone again so soon.

Right now, this was not about her at all though. "Do you want me to go tell Ilya?"

Arwen wasn't surprised when Aragorn shook his head after a moment of contemplation. Right now it was crucial to keep a cool head. Close relatives were rarely ever helpful with that.

"I've been to the Houses of Healing again earlier. She sent me right back out. Given she's allegedly had half a mind to try and join one of the soldiers on their horse earlier, I rather have her stay with her patient for now. Should _he_ harbor any questionable thoughts, I want him at least to be somewhat fit. If she begs him long enough, Thondrar might seriously take her with him." Arwen could see in Aragorn's clenching jaw how much anger just the idea was causing him that both their old friend from Imladris and the she-elf that they had all grown so fond of, might be next to get themselves into trouble.

"As long as I have anything to do with it, neither of them leaves the city." Arwen shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Go, it's alright. I'll keep an eye on everything.“

Actually, she was glad about the interruption. She needed to be alone for a while to think about all this.

Maybe afterward, Tarisilya would at least want to talk to _her_ , the way the two of them had always managed to so easily in the last few months and centuries. Whether her friend wanted to admit it or not: She needed that right now – and so did Arwen.

"Lady Éowyn?" As there was no reaction to her knock on the door of the guest chambers, Tarisilya just entered it. While she was only reluctantly fulfilling the wish Aragorn had voiced earlier, to see after Faramir's wife, because she didn't need to be able to read his mind to know that all he wanted was some distraction for her ... She only rarely let patients get rid of her.

And when she found Éowyn at the dressing table in her bedroom then, still wearing her nightgown and looking just as slim and pale again as before her wedding, she was glad to have come here after all.

While Éowyn showed something that could pass for a greeting nod if one tried to see it hard enough, the handmaid combing her hip-length light blonde hair reacted to the visit only by murmuring to her Lady that one could never be safe from unwelcome interruptions in the Citadel; a sentence that she apparently thought the she-elf wouldn't be able to hear.

"Please, sit down. I'm almost ready." Ignoring the unkind remark, Éowyn washed her face in a delicate porcelain bowl as if Tarisilya hadn't long seen that she was crying.

"Actually, I've expected you to ride out to Ithilien with my husband and Aragorn. I couldn't blame you."

"His Majesty?" Tarisilya slowly raised one eyebrow. "His Majesty will not be leaving the city for now. And as for me … Unlike you, I wasn't raised on a sword and shield, unfortunately."

"Viwin, didn't you say …?" Confused, Éowyn turned her head to eye her handmaid, interrupting her fidgeting with the laces of her top for a moment.

"I must have been mistaken, milady." The scrawny, black-haired woman tried her best to look contrite and motioned her Lady to turn back around so she could continue to use the brush. "It would have been understandable, given how much His Majesty is always worrying about his elvish friends. It would be a catastrophe if anything was to happen to these people in North Ithilien. Especially since they're doing so much for that country. I just wonder why he thought it necessary to expose your husband to this danger. Doesn't he know the elves much better than the Steward? Forgive me, I didn't mean to be insolent."

Seeing Éowyn's chastising glance in the mirror, she quickly stepped back, curtsied, and left the room, again, without paying any attention to the she-elf.

"The Stewardaides make all of us nervous," Éowyn tried to explain the impolite behavior.

With little enthusiasm, she stared at the two plain dresses laid out on the bed for her, obviously wondering if was even worth the effort, putting one of them on if no one would see her anyway.

"You're not nervous, milady, you're depressive," Tarisilya told the Rohiril to her face, deciding against going easy on her. "Forgive my frankness but I was worried about you at your wedding already. If you don't happen to be expecting, you're in remarkably bad shape."

"Such a condition would require me to see my husband more often than two times a week for breakfast," was the gruff answer, followed by a deep sigh. " _That's_ really no one's business, and you have your own worries, Your Highness. Leave me alone please."

"I will not force you to speak." No, Tarisilya usually didn't give up so easily, but she felt that her own feelings were trying to overwhelm her. That wouldn't do Éowyn any good. Everything in this room reminded her way too much of how she had been waiting for her husband in the war – and how she had to wait once again today.

"Just listen to the only advice I can give you in this situation." She knelt down next to that picture of misery sitting on that chair that had been a glowing symbol of fighting spirit and endless courage for both the Rohirrim and the Gondorians just a few months ago. She didn't want to touch Éowyn, although the sensation of healing hands were usually being very helpful with patients.

The young woman just radiated too much distance to risk it. In the war, Éowyn had lost almost everyone who had been important to her. And now the man who was actually supposed to help her find back a normal life left her alone too.

If there was one thing, Tarisilya had learned in the last few years, it was that such a situation didn't improve if you were waiting for it. To an elf, 20 years of stagnation were a blink of the eye. Less than half of that time would break Éowyn.

"Isn't it _you_ who's building that cage of loneliness for you? Once you went to war without permission because you were so afraid for your friends and family. Tell me, doesn't your marriage deserve the same amount of commitment?"

Since a frightened glance from wide eyes was the answer only she got, she took her leave. This was all she could do here right now. Who knew? Maybe that wake-up call would already suffice.

In the hallway, she almost ran into Aragorn's advisor Verilas who judging by his compassionate expression, was on his way to see her, not Éowyn. " _What_?" An ice-cold lump suddenly seemed to be beating in her chest instead of her heart.

"There seems to be news from North Ithilien. I'm sure there must be first traces; otherwise, none of the men would come back, especially not someone like Captain Beregond."

Hearing the name of one of the Steward's most loyal companions did indeed give Tarisilya hope. The man was just a little older than Faramir but after Aragorn had appointed him the leader of the White Company in Ithilien, he was acting more mature and deliberate than Faramir himself about certain issues. That was at least what she could tell from Legolas' rare letters.

"Thank you. Come, quickly." She hurried ahead so rashly that the man needed quite a few moments to catch up with her.

"Princess." Beregond bowed deeply to Tarisilya when she entered the throne room as if showing reverence could sugarcoat what he had to tell her at this evening hour. In a few words, he summarized that there was nothing left in the woods of Cair Andros but emptiness, a lot of foundation walls ruined by claws and teeth and telain halfway torn down from the trees.

"They cleaned up thoroughly. Even if the Stewardaides have suffered losses as well: This time, they've taken their injured and diseased friends with them instead of leaving them to the animals which usually is their way." As Faramir's friend, Beregond was one of the people who hated Aragorn's enemies the most, who tried to drive such a huge wedge into the new peace.

"So we were all the more surprised to find this at the edge of the woods. Whatever happened there, it did when the Stewardaides were already gone." He glumly handed Tarisilya a grey cloak that was fastened about the neck with a brooch shaped like a dark green leaf. A jewel that had lost none of its shine even months after its production, other than the cloak itself that was marred by big red stains and four long, parallel tears.

"Our people are already searching the area in two groups. I'll be on my way as well. I just wanted to let you know …" He paused to run a hand through his stringy, brunette hair. "I'm sorry, milady. I wish I could do anything for you."

Tarisilya didn't manage to say a single word. Her hand had clenched around the fabric in it. She wouldn't have needed to see the buckle to recognize the work of Lórien's tailor shops. A hint of warmth and a well-known, beloved smell of resin, detectable only for elvish noses, was all it took.

_This is entirely uncommon, child of the moon._

_I know, milord. But I also know, I'm not the first one today to approach you with this request. Since there's nothing else that the elves are doing to stop Sauron, don't we at least want to stand by those who have the courage to do so? The way to Mordor is long and still poses many dangers to the Fellowship. They can use some cover, even if it's just the clothes of our people._

_While I am happy that you decided to raise your voice again after all this time, I wish it would contain at least_ some _reason after all this time of thinking. Stop lying to yourself, child of the moon. I know exactly who it is that you're most worried about._

_If I'd ever denied that, milord, I wouldn't have come to you. I would pick up a needle and thread myself, but my hands lost their strength. I never asked you for support in this matter. Just answer your people's query for protection or those who want to save us. And for the one I love. I'm begging you._

Tarisilya folded the cloak with stiff movements. Her glance wandered to Aragorn whose grey eyes were resting much too keenly on her for her taste. "If you allow, Your Majesty?"

By a short movement of her head, she asked Beregond to accompany her outside so they could talk alone, once the King had nodded hesitatingly, without a doubt little enthusiastic about what she might have on her mind, but too lost in his own shock to try and stop her. Not that he could have.

"Maybe you actually _can_ do something, Captain."

_Something dark arises in your lands, Steward. Don't look back._

Being an old friend of Gandalf, Faramir should actually be used to people talking in riddles to him, but maybe he just didn't know enough elves in person yet. As gardeners, they were the best neighbors anyone could wish for. As prophets, they were being of little use, at least to him. Whatever Erestor had been talking about before going the opposite direction together with a few soldiers, to search the immediate area of Cair Andros … North Ithilien was made of _nothing_ but shadows right now. To know that, Faramir didn't need someone who, seen in a sober light, was merely being decorative at the court.

"Steward?" One of his soldiers slowly approached him from behind. "It's useless."

It wasn't just the Stewardaides' clever skills to cover their tracks that made pursuing them impossible; now it had started to rain as well. Whatever useful trace might have been left in the snow, was lost for good.

"Steward? Shall we ride back?" The soldier bent down to him in confusion when Faramir remained where he was, kneeling silently at the almost dried creek bed that he'd been staring at for minutes, that not even the shower could fill with new life.

The man gasped, startled, when Faramir grabbed his wrist in a flash, right above the spot that an unruly bush had scratched earlier. Just like expected, the wounds that had already started to heal, immediately seemed to be burning as if they'd very suddenly decided to get infected, which had the man pull back his arm. "What in the …?" Only when he spotted black drops of thick water on his skin, he understood. "Ithilien's Venom! Even more sullied ground?"

"The only one in this area. According to the elves, this phenomenon has occurred together with warg sightings several times, because they often carry that stuff on their paws. If it's true that the Stewardaides chased these beasts here … This stream originally led east. They must have come from where none of us has been in the last months. The territory around Mordor. So it's a pretty safe bet that they went back there, too."

Faramir straightened up, wiping his hand on his cloak. He already regretted the little outburst. He had just lost it because apparently, his men were seriously considering just _giving up_. The encounter with that infested, smelly sludge that – while it wasn't right able to injure anyone – worsened existing, sometimes even old wounds and only got cleaned up more and more thanks to the elves' tireless efforts, had hopefully been rebuke enough. It was about high time to stop these criminals who brought so much misery to his land.

"Get the others. We're taking the old route to Henneth Annûn that my Rangers and I used in the past." His men's base in the war. When Faramir had last been there, the fate of Middle-earth had been in his hands for a moment. He could have made the most fatal decision of his life in these caves. It would have been so easy, two defenseless hobbits at his mercy …

And then? Then the first thing his father would probably have used his new favorite toy for would have been finally ridding himself of his annoying son, one way or another. Definitely in some way that wouldn't have raised too many questions … and of course only if someone hadn’t beaten him to an attack.

Denethor would have been extremely delighted with Aragorn's enemies. That he hadn't understood how much this land needed a King, was just one of the reasons why Faramir hadn't known what else he could do but to take precautions in secret in the end.

The blurred picture of a pamphlet on a tavern notice board tried to drown out that thought and quietly remind Faramir that in fact, not everyone in this country had shared this need for a monarchy. When he closed his eyes in annoyance, it was instead Éowyn's battered appearance he was seeing behind his closed lids. The silent reproach in her expression that he was going away _again_ , that he was starting to leave her alone all the time, just like her brother.

No, he didn't have to approve of all of his King's decisions. Actually, he would have been needed somewhere else far more urgently right now, and Aragorn would have been qualified just as much to solve this thing quickly. But none of that mattered. The two of them had to present harmonic realm leadership for the people, especially for these dangerous rebels. Faramir certainly wasn't disgruntled enough to not know exactly what he had to do.

Only when the soldier from earlier – clearly intimidated now – came to ride by Faramir's side as they carried on, eying him questioningly from the side, he realized that contrary to his own instruction, he hadn't chosen the straight path to Henneth Annûn, but one leading to … another place. His instinct had reacted to the melancholic memories from a moment ago with a dark suspicion before his heart had even been willing to consciously accept it.

"I know. We'll look somewhere else first. There's another gathering spot in this area." Faramir decided not to mention the reason why none of the soldiers knew this place though, why not even one of the Rangers that he was missing so dearly by his side right now, would have known it. That he had once chosen that place to train six hand-picked warriors that he had trusted more than anyone, except maybe for Gandalf.

Six warriors who had known exactly that there was only one reason why they were regularly meeting on that piece of forest, leaving it again at the edge of complete exhaustion and with countless injuries from relentless training duels. To be prepared for something that would hopefully never happen.

Something that Faramir had been afraid of all his life, and gradually more and more towards the end of the war. The necessity of having to turn against his own father because he left him no choice.

Over many years, Denethor had got so lost in his possession regarding the danger in the east that he had completely forgotten the good of his people. Every time Denethor had talked about Mordor, about a weapon against the darkness and about fighting enemies of Gondor with iron power, to the last man, there had been this threatening glow in his eyes, and that hatred in his voice. In the end, when he had meant to burn both himself and his son then, Faramir had plainly seen the madness distorting his expression. It was as if something foreign and evil had seized hold of him in moments like these.

Deeply shaken by that, Faramir had not seen any other possibility than prepare for a catastrophe. The people involved in that, he hadn't seen since the end of the war. Three of them had fallen at the Black Gate, two others had gone back to their families.

Only one remained.

"It smells as if we were at the corpse ceremonies after the war," another soldier remarked at some point.

"The edge of the Dead Marshes area is just a few miles from here." Faramir tried to ignore the murmurs of his people who had to rightly wonder why a base should exist in this cursed region of all places.

Up to now, he had honestly thought, this unpleasant matter was a thing of the past ... But even before he made out a movement on one of the impassable serpentine paths far above them, his mind knew better. It was _not_ over. What weighed down both Aragorn and him equally, what kept him away from Éowyn, and what threatened to cost him more serenity than the war, he had apparently started in large part himself. And now he'd run into an obvious trap on top of that.

"Archers on the mountainside! _Cover_!"

The last word was swallowed by the loud whistle of several arrows. None of them hit, at least none of the soldiers was hit; instead, several of their horses were. And the ground right around them, in an almost perfect, seamless line that had Faramir realize, the attackers weren't only perched up high on the spurs of the Ephel Dúath. The air infused by the death of this area that Faramir had once used to sharpen his men's focus, had allowed their enemies to approach them unnoticed. They were _everywhere_.

"Lower your weapons."

 _Damn it_ … Faramir had listened to his intuition far too late and then bet too much on the assumption that one of the Stewardaides might know the way to Henneth Annûn or that other secret base, waiting for him there, now that they did finally have him here in the wilderness. Well, at least half of that assumption had been correct. Faramir had learned early in his life that half-hearted results could be deadly.

"Steward?" The other soldiers, ducking behind the remaining horses who gave them a hard time reining them in, met the order seemingly premature to them with visible confusion. Admittedly, they all had fought more hopeless battles before.

Only the enemy had been known to them back then. And predictable.

"They win this one." Faramir handed one of the others the reins of his horse and came out from behind of it slowly, with his hands raised mid-air. "Show your faces. Who of you is Barhit?"

"I see, you remember the old days, Steward." A not too tall, tow-haired man of extraordinarily muscular build stepped forward and pulled back his hood, revealing very prominent cheekbones that drew attention towards narrow grey eyes. A thick scar on his cheek, probably originating from the last battle of the war, was downright splitting the flesh there, all the way down to his jaw.

After the sudden realization earlier, Faramir shouldn't be surprised; still, it hurt to see a traitor wear the Ranger clothes of his own people. "Please forgive the aggressive approach. Our only desire is to talk to you without being hunted as rebels immediately."

"Gondor doesn't negotiate with traitors." Faramir tore his sword from its scabbard and attacked. Just like he'd hoped, the man had come close enough to chase him back against the cliff with a few strikes and keep his people from coming to his rescue with a razor-sharp blade held against his neck. "Call off your men and take me to your hideout, then I might consider leaving you alive."

Barhit quickly recovered from his surprise. A smile curled on his pale lips. "It's good to see, you can still catch me off guard, Steward. By now, you surely know quite well where we are staying; you don't need me for that. So what are you waiting for? The men there can't wait to finally meet you. They've heard so much about you already."

All it took was this one last sentence to confirm all of Faramir's fears. Barhit had only initiated this whole thing about the elves to get him here – and to blackmail him then with his knowledge about something that no one could ever know about. Whereas he should have cut the man's head off, his hand suddenly started to tremble. He couldn't rely on this secret dying with Barhit, and the man knew that damn well.

"His Majesty prefers living prisoners who can provide information about their plans."

Faramir eyed the shapes that the weak shine of some torches revealed and demanded: "Take down your weapons."

"You heard the Captain."

Barhit answered to Faramir's scathing glance at the mention of this title with another smile. "Certain habits are hard to outgrow. For the sake of fairness, I'd like to insist though that neither group takes up their weapons again today. Since I appreciate your willingness to compromise very much, I have no reason to order an attack."

"Only in your dreams, traitor." With his free hand, Faramir roughly yanked him away from the wall and twisted his arm behind his back. "To the prisoners before I lose my patience."

The completely perplexed stares of his man on his back, he quickly urged Barhit towards the steep clearing where a despaired son of Gondor had once, with the utmost reluctance, planned insurrection against his own father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * mîl nín = my love


	3. Chapter 3

"I told you, Steward: All we wanted was an undisturbed conversation. The damages inevitably caused by that attempt, we've repaired as well as we could."

Barhit was visibly enjoying Faramir's astonishment when the two groups arrived at the clearing in question, a spot surrounded by mighty firs with black needles, and the soldiers did _not_ find a badly wounded group of elves, not even any restraints on them.

While the Stewardaides had taken their prisoners' weapons and brought them onto a talan that they couldn't leave without attracting attention, their injuries had been taken care of impeccably, and they had been given food and water as well.

For a moment, Faramir couldn't help but wonder why beings like elves, with an excellent, deadly reputation in physical conflicts, hadn't taken control of the situation yet. From what he'd been told, Thondrar and Legolas had trained even those of their group in the most important moves quite well, who hadn't been active in any army before, to be prepared for eventualities in an area still unsafe.

Then he saw the she-elves though. There were only four of them present but like many female members of their kin, they were probably barely trained in attack and defense techniques. They looked accordingly distraught, though they were well-protected both from stares and from possible abuse, cowering in the center of the prisoners.

Admiration and respect surged through him. Giving up their freedom like that must have been unbelievably humiliating for these proud beings. They had done it anyway, just to protect those among them who could have perished in an open fight against enemies like the Stewardaides.

"Are there losses?" In Sindarin, without leaving Barhit out of his sight, he addressed one of the elves, a still quite young and especially frightened-looking one that he knew from a few visits in Emyn Arnen.

He'd noticed immediately that Legolas wasn't with the group. Besides, he was pretty sure that Erestor had mentioned _five_ she-elves.

"We can't tell. So far, we had no chance to see what the wargs left of the settlement," Avrelas answered sarcastically, in the language of his people as well. "Watch your back, Steward. It's not negotiations you've been invited to. There are other monsters left in this area."

"Am I hearing the suggestion that we had something to do with the wargs?" Barhit asked, feigning offense.

"Why so surprised, Steward? Have you forgotten, my level of education is the same as yours? I'm not a stranger to the language of the elves, though my people and I would prefer not having to hear it in Gondor anymore. And why not? Are the Firstborn not in such a hurry to remove themselves from their life on Middle-earth? Malicious violent acts on our part though are pure slander, as one hears it so often from these people's lips. We _might_ have exploited the situation, but this group brought the attack of these beasts upon themselves single-handedly, seeing as they killed the members of that pack one by one."

" _Silence_!" Faramir was extremely tempted to push the man over the edge of the talan. Unfortunately, he needed him. He really didn't want to have to explain to King Thranduil why he hadn't looked for his son. If the Stewardaides had anything to do with Legolas' disappearance, Faramir had to find out, and _quickly_ , not in a few months of interrogations. When wargs were involved, there was not a second to lose.

"My men are waiting on the ground." He turned to the elf again, speaking Westron this time so he could be _entirely_ sure, Barhit would understand him. "They will shoot anyone without hesitation who dares to attack you. Go, get the she-elves to safety. My people will grant you protection and give you escort."

"Not so fast." The way to the ladder was being shut before the elves could react. In spite of the visible pain in his shoulder that Faramir had almost dislocated in the heat of the moment earlier, Barhit immediately had his sword in his hand. "Given how long our friends here have enjoyed our hospitality, I doubt they need an escort. I demand nothing else but a conversation with you, Steward, that both our groups will witness, unarmed. In return, the elves are free to go right now. A fair deal, isn't it? I'm marked, Steward, not blind. Keep your hand off your bow. Do you seriously believe, I needed all my men to bring you here? In the tops of all the surrounding trees, more of them are only waiting for my sign to put an arrow to all of these pitiful creatures' hearts. Come on, let our ceasefire not be threatened."

"Don't give in to this, Steward." The elves only strengthened their lines around the she-elves, ready to shield them with their so fragile seeming, unprotected bodies until Faramir's people would be able to react to the threat above their heads – seconds that the lives of many might depend on. "If you back away now, it will only encourage the skeptics in Gondor."

But Faramir had already made up his mind. He wouldn't be responsible for the death of even a single Firstborn. Without a doubt, there would have been honorable songs about so much selflessness, and praise in the annals for the sacrifice of these courageous people once he would return to Minas Tirith with the sad tidings. He preferred living voices that could tell their stories themselves.

The other reason why he couldn't order his men to attack the Stewardaides though – not _yet_ –, only Barhit and he knew. What Faramir had started on this clearing several years ago, would stay on this clearing. To avoid great, maybe even deadly unrest among the people over it alone. If that really required him to shed blood, it wouldn't be any of those who weren't responsible for his conflict back then.

"Go," he repeated very firmly towards the elves.

Nodding in satisfaction, Barhit lowered his sword and turned to the shapes nearby that were so hard to make out. "No shooting! Give up cover! Our elvish guests are leaving us. I trust you enough to turn my back on you, Steward."

He coolly turned away and led the way down the stairs. "Can you say the same?"

"You should expect neither understanding nor mercy from me, traitor." To Faramir, the situation felt more and more like a bad play in which just one of the actors making a little mistake would be enough to breed catastrophe. He hadn't been sent here to talk. He wasn't authorized to arrange a cease-fire. And yet he didn't have a choice.

Even in the war, between hundreds of orcs, he had never felt so cornered.

Soon both sides were indeed completely unarmed, except for their leaders, and were facing each other in two long rows, watching the elves who were on high alert as they left the clearing. Only when Faramir eyed his men, many of whom visibly didn't know how much they could trust the decisions of their own Steward right now, he noticed that one of them was missing.

So he hadn't imagined the sound of quietly departing hoof beats earlier. The youngest of the group had valiantly made an escape, to summon reinforcements.

Which meant nothing less than that the capital would learn about possible treason of the Steward even faster than expected.

If the Stewardaides had noticed the incident too, they didn't seem to want to stop the boy. Just one more reason for not believing a word they were saying. Something else, something much bigger was behind this whole move.

And Faramir didn't need any mysterious ancient prophesies to be aware that if he didn't find out what that was as quickly as possible, a disaster could happen here. One that after the previous ones in the most recent past, Gondor might not be able to deal with anymore.

Silence filled the throne room of the White Tower. After Arwen's kidnapping, it was the second time for Aragorn since taking office, to feel completely battered, like after a long, hard fight.

It took Erestor quietly clearing his throat first before he managed to straighten up and hurry down the stairs, with heavy steps, to approach the elf and Beregond ... And the man who had delivered what was possibly the most crucial message since the end of the war. "How certain are you?" he asked the other soldier who was kneeling between the two others, obviously not just exhausted from the strenuous ride here but clearly intimidated as he felt Aragorn's doubtful look on him.

The young man repeated once more what he had witnessed near the Dead Marshes, and that the soldiers had been close to take initiative but were being too loyal to the Steward to question him.

"Still - his behavior towards these criminals ... And this man, Barhit, was talking to him in such a familiar way …" The man stopped, unwilling to say what was in the air and what, without a doubt, would do the rounds in the city early enough.

If Aragorn's luck failed him, it would do so as early as tonight, thanks to the few guards positioned in this hall even at this hour. Not everyone understood the necessity of absolute confidentiality.

"I understand. Go now, get some rest. For now, please keep all of this to yourself."

Aragorn cursed his own negligence. He should have taken the herald and his two companions that he'd brought along from Cair Andros on his way back, straight to a room where they were alone. Now all he could do was try and limit the damage. He gave one of the guards an invisible sign, arranged at the very beginning of his rule already, whereupon the man locked all doors, as soon as the still quite adolescent soldier had gone outside, with slumped shoulders.

"I don't want to hear any premature conclusions," he ordered everyone present before anyone could speak up. "Not from _anyone_ , just to be clear." He raised his voice a little. "The elves have been freed. Right now, that's the only thing that counts."

"Your Majesty, with all due respect." Erestor frowned disapprovingly. His impatient tone left no doubt about why he had abandoned the search with the second soldier group at Cair Andros, just as reluctantly as Beregond, and had come here personally. To be by Aragorn's side in this difficult hour once again, also and especially when it came to things Aragorn didn't want to hear. "Many could see this approach of the Steward as treason already. Others will feel justified, preferring him over you. In a few hours, the city will be filled with loud voices."

"These voices have been existing since my coronation." Aragorn tried to sound more confident than he was. "As soon as the Steward is back – knowing him, with more than one prisoner –, he'll explain himself."

"Are you sure, they will be _prisoners_?" Erestor asked so quietly that only the small group could hear.

Hearing such mistrust against his leader made Beregond speak up all the louder though. "Keep your outrageous offenses to yourself, Lord Erestor! The Steward is loyal to the King! He never tried to seize power!"

"He had many burdens to carry when His Majesty wasn't in the city so shortly after the war." Erestor just ignored the rebuke. "Pressure changes people, Captain, especially when they can't cope with it and feel not only overwhelmed but left alone with a job. Even the most determined spirit can listen to voices from outside promising improvement then."

" _Stop it_ , both of you!" Aragorn stepped forward angrily, coming to stand between the opponents. "Cut out the useless fighting in my halls as long as there are lives depending on us, or you will witness firsthand how it looks when I'm forced to take drastic measures. Until this crisis is solved, I don't want to hear any word of resentment anymore, especially not from people who hardly even know the Steward."

"Do _you_ know him?" Erestor lowered his arms from behind his back, giving up a position that looked more tense than balanced anyway, and took Aragorn by the shoulder, just for a moment. "Please be honest to yourself, Your Majesty. You see a wish in him, a hope, but you never had time to find out if it's justified. You've rarely been to these lands during the heyday of the last Steward. Do you think, Faramir is _nothing_ like his family? Like his father has been at his end?"

"How can a Firstborn judge that, who has seen these walls only from afar and even more seldom than me? Who was never overly interested in mannish concerns? Whose heart has long left these realms?" Instinctively, Aragorn took a step back, with regret but also with relief that he'd finally brought himself to say that. He had been surprised from the start that Elrond had left Erestor here of all people. No matter how much Aragorn respected the librarian's wisdom and experience, no matter how much they appreciated each other: Even he often felt the rejection that the elf met Men with. Right now, he surely saw them more as an obstacle keeping him from his departure to the west.

"And Faramir's brother? I hardly saw you exchanging a word with him back in Imladris, and not with the other Ring Companions either. Boromir might have made a single wrong choice on our journey, but he had just as little of his father's most negative qualities as Faramir. I trusted Faramir with the lives of my inferiors already, and I would do so again anytime. I know how it is to suffer under the shadow of one's ancestors. Having the same blood in your veins does not mean to fail your people the same way."

Erestor had another answer on his lips already – and at least a hint of bad conscience was now showing on his rough features – but Beregond brusquely turning away had him pause.

"Captain …"

"No. I won't listen to this nonsense any longer. There's an unfinished job waiting for me at the Dead Marshes. And what we need there right now, first and foremost, is more men. We will have to delay the search for the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen for the moment." Arduously swallowing his anger, he looked back once more, eying Aragorn questioningly.

"Withdraw the rest of your men from Cair Andros. I'll send a troop of my own soldiers there," Aragorn nodded, reluctantly though. Having even fewer warriors in the city than there already were right now, displeased him.

"We'll join the Steward as quickly as we can and find out what is going on there. Then we'll return to the Cair Andros," Beregond promised. "At least _some_ of us still remember their duty."

"Then I suggest, you let the King do _his_." Erestor had only a cynical grin and a lenient headshake to spare for the dig.

"And me, I'll go back to doing what is actually _mine_ , Your Majesty. All we found at the streams of Cair Andros, in the spot where Arod's hoof prints petered out, was odd traces. The riddle of the Prince's disappearance has not been solved yet, and pursuing such tiny hints is not my specialty. At least the members of his settlement seem to be out of danger now, so my place is in the streets of Minas Tirith tonight. If there's a need for action, I will alert you."

"Once more, I can only thank you for showing so much strength." While these words might feel out of place after the short fight, Aragorn was being serious. In spite of all his little quirks, Erestor did still present a part of Imladris which gave Aragorn the feeling, Elrond's sharp eye would be watching over him, even after all these years and in spite of the occasional difficulties between them.

Visibly impatiently, Erestor waited for Beregond to close the door behind him. Then he stepped close to him again.

"No advice this time, only a personal request. Make sure that this crisis doesn't harm any more elves. They're here as your support, not as your shield against Gondor's enemies." He nodded at one of the many King's statues in the room, in the shadow of which Aragorn upon closer inspection could make out a slender, tall silhouette before he left for good.

Tarisilya followed suit, her empty expression not betraying what the secretly overheard conversation had done to her. Since she knew now that Legolas was still on his own for the moment - and Aragorn's brief, grim nod in Erestor's direction would not give her any reason to think that she would be allowed to join the search party this time -, Aragorn had a pretty good idea.

After Aragorn had given Arwen the news, at a very short dinner, over a big glass of wine, she was almost glad to be able to leave his chambers today. They were filled with too much depression that they couldn't help each other with; so she was relieved to have her usual excuse on four legs. The wild dog whelp that Aragorn and Legolas had found by chance on their search for Arwen in Ithilien back then, was support and motivation at the same time for her, especially on days like these.

Arwen had hardly been seeing anyone of her kin since living in the Citadel as a court lady, being taught about mannish etiquette both by a very young handmaid named Ranír – a girl always radiating deep sadness – and her charming friend in the tailor shop. And occasionally by Tarisilya when the other she-elf could get away from the Houses of Healing. She even only rarely crossed Erestor's path, and when she did, he was mostly being so busy with some kind of parchment, just like in Imladris back then, that a conversation was hard. And Arwen still didn't really get along well with most of the men around here.

The ladies at the court simply envied her too much still for her regular meetings with the King and for him caring about her so very much. If it hadn't been for the chaperones, there would long have been a huge scandal.

Without the dog, Arwen probably would have hidden in her chambers in frustration every night. As it was, she was forced to go on long walks, always accompanied by a guard who should protect her outside the Citadel level. The fresh air and the exercise prevented lethargy. And Fain as she was calling the lively, affectionate animal by her side, was growing dearer to her heart every day.

Today, not even his cheerful bark and his attempts to get her to play with him managed to ease her mind though, so she kept the trip short. In the courtyard, she paused as she did so often, regarding the tree there with a smile that had been revived in the war.

It seemed as if there were more healthy twigs and blossoms on the tree every day, in spite of the cold time of the year. Minas Tirith would soon have its beloved landmark back, the White Tree visibly symbolizing the return of the King for everyone. Maybe that would have the stubbornness of some doubters loosen.

A movement in the shadows of the fortress walls, right at the gate to the next level, attracted Arwen's attention. Someone wearing dark grey armor of one of the soldiers of Emyn Arnen ... Probably one of Faramir's people on their way to the others … Except all of these soldiers had left the city; at least that was what Aragorn had told her.

Arwen considered ordering one of the guards at the entrance of the King's House to join her again since the one at the exit didn't seem to be present right now but decided to immediately follow the stranger instead. Or he would already be gone before she could be back with support.

She meant to signal Fain to be quiet, but the dog stayed silent all by itself, strangely enough. Even when they followed the stranger to the stables, he just wagged his tail instead of cocking his ears.

Arwen pondered feverishly who this could be. The shape that she could make out in the dark, was actually too delicate for a warrior.

Only when the guy stopped at a stall that Arwen knew only too well, she realized her misjudgment. So that was why Fain was acting so trustful.

"Dressing like a soldier doesn't give you the right to ride into battle on Aragorn's horse."

"Brego still owes me one." The supposed warrior kept their hood on but Tarisilya's deep voice was one that Arwen would have recognized among thousands of others. "He'll be happy about the chance to show his gratitude. Come on, boy. We've got work to do."

She patted Brego's neck just as mechanically as she was speaking, revealing the thick, rough gloves of the armor that rounded off her disguise, and led the way without even bridling the horse. Most of their kin didn't need any means to steer animals well-disposed to them. And unless they were traveling, there was no need for additional leather and luggage. In a conflict though, additional armor and stability could never hurt. But how was a healer supposed to know that?

Brego trotted outside without hesitation, not even bristling when Tarisilya swung up on his back. Her healing hands had helped the animal's pain more than once, that was how she had won its trust; she was right about that.

That was the only thing she was seeing clearly right now though. That the other she-elf did really have the audacity to sneak off after Aragorn had had people watching her like a hawk in the last few hours, and had begged her not to do anything inconsiderate, had Arwen lose it.

"What is it that you plan? Let one of the Stewardaides shoot you from your horse? Sing them to sleep like Aragorn back then? You're a healer! Do you hope you can intimidate them with empty threats until they tell you voluntarily where Legolas is? Or will you let them take you prisoner, just to find out? Don't look at me like that. Right now, I wouldn't even put such madness past you. Do you think Legolas wants you to get yourself in danger? These men don't go easy on anyone. I witnessed firsthand what they are capable of as you might remember. And this time, there's no one among them who could help you. At least take someone with you!"

"There is no one else. It's my turn, Arwen." From how Tarisilya was searching the area to make sure that there was no one approaching who could have stopped her, one could almost buy the whole soldier act. At least when you ignored that the armor didn't fit her and that she wasn't carrying a sword that she wasn't able to handle anyway.

"Yes, I am a healer. But I can't hide behind that any longer. I finally have to learn how to handle it better. You were too battered back then to witness how Legolas took me away from here after your kidnapping. The night before, that one child died that I'd thought saved. And I still don't know from what, exactly. That was Rohan, Arwen. Someone with my abilities should never kill. Since then, I know that even better than before. I was very close to leave the city back then, that's how ashamed I was about my failure. Only I didn't even know where to go. It's cruel when you suddenly don't have a home anymore." Absently, Tarisilya let Brego's long, red mane slip through her fingertips, braiding a strand and taking the braid out again, just to avoid looking at Arwen.

"North Ithilien was like an anchor when I was feeling that lost. Entirely different from all I knew, with strange magic and life in its purest form. A landscape that still knows how to breathe and the damages are a challenge, not a discouragement. This is good land. One where we can be happy. I knew that from the moment I saw it. I wish I would have told Legolas instead of ignoring it in my bitterness. I happily agreed to be left behind here, just so we wouldn't have to face the pain of losing our baby together. Even from the distance, he's tried so hard, looking after me, writing all the time, and I …"

When the moon fought its way out from behind thick clouds, Arwen could see tears glistening on Tarisilya's cheeks. The unexpected, pale ray of light had her close her eyes as if it would have been the sun blinding her. Her thoughts were visibly still revolving around that day when she had last seen her husband.

_I know that these words must have lost almost every meaning to you, but I'm sorry, Ilya. You think I don't_ want _you around? If I could be certain that you'll feel better here, I would somehow manage to deal with my fear for you._

_Let it go. It doesn't really matter now you're gone. You never were around that much to speak of._

Tarisilya opened her eyes. For the first time in a long while, she openly stared the moon in the face. Her companion since she'd been born who had always given her strength – until she had denied herself to accept it. The memory of her family had hurt too much, first the death of her mother, another child of the moon, then the departure of her father and her brother to Valinor ... Looking at the sky had started to cause nothing but pain.

Now, after all this time, the fear to lose someone else reopened her soul for this very special glow, dried her tears, and turned her grief-stricken posture into the determined defensive wall of someone who finally had learned to choose their battles wisely and accept all their consequences.

"I'm not going because I've got anything to prove. I just won't let anything keep me away from my husband anymore. Not even death can do that. Our bond is too strong to be able to walk this world without each other, so if that is indeed our fate, we will face it together from now on. And probably hope that we'll do better in our next lives then. I will never kill anyone again if there's any way to avoid it; but I won't keep running away if someone I love needs protection."

Her fingertips grazed the handle of the dagger Legolas had given her for her begetting day. What was it that he had said back then?

_When the moon is full, I'll be back, Ilya._

One more promise he hadn't been able to keep, but she had long given up being angry about such things. Legolas had his job, his duties, she had always known that. And though he tended to believe that: He couldn't solve everything on his own.

Now that the full moon was high in the sky over Minas Tirith, it was her turn to go back to _him_.

With a short move of her hips, Tarisilya signaled Brego that he was allowed to start running. "Take care of yourself, Arwen."

" _Me_?" One quick step was enough for Arwen to get in the way which had the horse bolt in surprise.

" _You_ kindly get back unscathed, Princess of Eryn Lasgalen, or it won't just be your husband's anger you bring upon yourself. Just in case you forgot: You two wouldn't be seeing _all_ of us again after your glorious rebirth in the west." Only now she stepped aside.

Without another word that would only have hurt both of them, Tarisilya got her horse to move.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another note or two for people who only just jumped in ...
> 
> Tarisilya is mentioning Tegiend in her POV here, that's her twin brother who sailed west just like her father in the war. Shortly after Tarisilya and Legolas had first met (series part #1), Tegiend has been attacked by a couple of wargs that Legolas saved him from.
> 
> The battle that Tarisilya mentions happened in T.A. 3000, right after Legolas and she finally became a couple (also series part #1). When Aragorn and Legolas had been taken prisoner by some Haradrim on a common journey, Tarisilya had an instinctive fear that something had happened and asked Elrond to send some warriors after them. Thondrar led that rescue mission then.
> 
> Also, a canon tidbit maybe not broadly known and of significance in Arwen's POV here if you like subtle hints ;-): Mearas horses (like Brego and Shadowfax) usually only accept nobles and High Lords of the elves on their back.

Just a few seconds after Brego's stocky silhouette had got out of sight, Arwen returned to the Citadel hastily. One failed attempt didn't mean that she couldn't have someone follow Tarisilya. Her friend might begrudge her for it later, but Arwen would not allow it that she got herself killed out there.

Her steps took her to a certain hallway of the King's House that she would probably have found even with her eyes closed, given how often she had been there in the last few months. Hence why she didn't pay further attention to the guard outside the King's chambers. She just nodded at the man briefly and raised her hand to knock.

But that was when the soldier stepped in her way. "My apologies, Lady Arwen, but the King already went to bed."

"Then wake him up, please. It's important." Arwen tried in vain not to sound too gruff. Every delay meant Tarisilya getting another few feet closer towards North Ithilien without protection.

"I'm sorry but the King explicitly said, he doesn't want to be disturbed. He wasn't feeling well." The man didn't make a move to step aside.

Just in time, Arwen remembered what she had been taught about manners at a court all her life. Screaming at a guard who was only doing his job wasn't appropriate for either Elves or Men. Her voice sounded accordingly strained when she put her hands on her hips. "Believe me, it's important. The King will be very unhappy if he's not being informed. And you'll be the one who has to explain then."

Inwardly, she cursed Tarisilya's behavior for the hundredth time in the last few minutes. If people weren't supposed to talk about the other she-elf's insubordination towards the King in every street by morning, Arwen couldn't tell the guard what this was about. And as long as she wasn't Aragorn's wife, she had no right to give instructions to any of his subjects. After a few more words of argument, she angrily turned away and stormed off.

Just for a moment, it crossed her mind to bridle Alagas and ride out herself to get Tarisilya back. But not to mention that her friend probably still wouldn't have listened, that would have made Arwen act just as foolishly as the other she-elf. A chance like that was exactly what the Stewardaides were waiting for. Arwen knew far too little about Ithilien and the enemies' possible numbers and fighting strength to risk that.

Frustrated, she came to stand at one of the windows in the hall, absently tugging on the flared sleeves of her dress and biting her lip until she had an idea. Aragorn would probably not like that one either, since this, too, went against his explicit will, but there was no one else she could turn to. She even would have gone to see Erestor though the two of them had had so little to say to each other in the last few years and months. But she had no clue where he was hanging about. Searching the streets of Minas Tirith would have taken far too long. And all the guards had been told very clearly to not leave their post.

So Arwen's path led her to the Houses of Healing. With quick, completely soundless steps in the shadows, she managed to get to the room unseen that an elf was laying in whom she respected almost as much as her father … and the father of said patient.

Thondrar and she of them hadn't always shared an opinion, not least because Arwen was having a much better relationship with Thondrar's father than he had, but she had always been able to rely on him when it counted. She hoped today wouldn't be any different.

And also that his father wouldn't attack her with his sword later because she had sent his only child into new danger in an injured condition.

When a sleepy answer finally came, many long moments after her knock, Arwen already started to regret her decision. Even more so when she spotted the thick bandage on the elf's propped-up leg. But now it was too late to turn around. "Forgive me for disturbing your rest, but I need your help, Thondrar."

" _Disturb_ is not the word I would choose, milady. Nothing against the healers of Minas Tirith, but after a few hours in here, one almost wishes rather for being in the dungeons of Angband. The company of the prettiest elf of these realms is a pleasant alternative." Arwen was gifted with the same bright laughter that she had learned to love many so centuries ago. Many of her kin were famous for their attractive voices, and Thondrar was no exception. That charismatic sound that made one rather think it belonged to a singer, sometimes made it hard to believe, Elrond regularly provided his sons with Thondrar in battles, because unlike Arwen's twin brothers, he had no inhibitions to kill enemies. If there was someone who could save this messed up situation, it was him. "What is it?"

"It's about the Princess of Eryn Lasgalen."

Arwen took another deep breath and got out the next words as quickly as possible before she could change her mind, summarizing what she had witnessed earlier.

"She has almost no battle skills as you know, and she's a nervous wreck," she ended quietly. "She won't stand a chance if she's being attacked. I would follow her myself, but the Stewardaides …"

"Though I would have appreciated your support very much: You can't leave here without the King knowing," Thondrar agreed immediately. "We need to stop playing into the Stewardaides’ hands. You better go back to your chambers, for now, Lady Arwen."

Just seconds after Arwen had enjoyed the cheerful face of a Firstborn with whole Ages of experience, she was faced with the one of a warrior again who didn’t even waste a second with triviality, who didn't even mind Arwen getting a good look of a just sparsely clothed upper body when Thondrar threw back the bedsheet and limped to the cabinet. And of gracile legs littered with a few scars that had not quite paled yet – a couple of these wounds, she had personally bandaged after common battles. She wished she could have been certain that today wouldn’t add further ones, but chances for that weren’t exactly good.

"Continue to stay quiet about what you've seen until you can talk to the King. Gondor has gone through enough turmoil because of these people. There's an elderly healer sitting at the end of the hall who sleeps far too lightly. If there’s something else you want to do for us, engage her in a conversation. Or I’m afraid I’ll have to jump out of the window to get to the stables without a mile-long discussion."

Arwen was discreet enough to turn away a little. She watched the door mistrustfully as if said healer would come through it any moment to ask what was going on in here. "Save the acrobatics for later. _You’ll_ be careful at least, won’t you? I don't want to lecture Ilya and then be responsible for something happening to you."

"A warrior is responsible for their own fate. If I can't keep my cover in a battle, it will be my mistake, not yours." Closing the buttons of his tunic, the other elf approached Arwen and put his hand on her shoulder for a moment.

"I'll take care of the Princess, I promise you. She should count herself lucky that she has a friend like you. Not everyone would have made their way here in spite of possible consequences. Don't blame yourself for that, neither now nor later."

Arwen looked up at Thondrar silently for a few seconds, then nodded. "Maybe I'll get Alagas to carry you. He’s very particular about whom to obey even for a Mearh and has his name for more than just the beautiful sound. But I suppose you still know him from Imladris; then you know his abilities. And Brego and he are very fond of each other. As soon as he leaves the stables, he'll want to get to his companion and search for him as you'll search for his rider."

Thondrar was indeed familiar with the temperamental animals of Elrond's breed and grimaced doubtfully but then shrugged. "I'll be waiting in the stable."

Afterward, even Arwen couldn’t say how she’d got Ioreth to leave her post for the short while that Thondrar needed to get out of the Houses of Healing. She’d been much too distracted; on the way outside, the expectation that the woman would notice the breakout and follow her had her heart racing in her chest. Only when she closed the stable doors behind her, she took a breath of relief.

Quickly making out Thondrar's tall silhouette in the weakly lit, broad aisle between the stalls, she motioned him to wait until she had got Alagas ready.

The stallion neighed sleepily when he realized what she was planning, impatiently pawing at the ground. In the last few days, Arwen had had even less time for him than in the months before. Even at this late hour, he waited impatiently for a ride. When she led him outside though and started to approach Thondrar, Alagas hesitated. At least he didn't start rearing and bolting immediately, that was a good sign. He probably felt it, instinctively, who was standing there before him.

With a firm pull on the reins, Arwen brought the animal's head towards her so she could wrap her arms around its neck and whisper something to it in her language while she caressed its neck. "I know. It’s a stranger. But this is about Ilya, you know? She needs our help. I’m trusting you here. Ilya nursed you back to health when you were injured. You owe her something."

Understanding her words exactly, Alagas pranced about as if he first needed to think about it. Finally, he nudged Arwen away from him with his head and threw it back a few times.

"I think he agrees." Arwen had to laugh about the Mearh’s strikingly human behavior. She tenderly scratched the stallion behind his ear once more, then she handed Thondrar the reins.

"Give it a try."

With a fearless levity that a rider could probably only have at the sight of Mearas when he was certain to be worthy of these animals, the other elf stepped up to Alagas. With some effort, he made it to pull himself up in the saddle, in spite of his injured leg.

The horse laid its ears close to its head for a moment, but it obeyed when Thondrar signaled him to start running, though it visibly wasn’t comfortable with having to get used to a new person on its back.

Arwen couldn't help but put a hand to her heart in relief. After his last wave to her, she watched Thondrar leave for quite a while before going back to her chambers. On the way, she just stopped quickly once more to collect Fain who had obediently waited at the Houses of Healing for her.

She hoped that no one out there would wonder about an elf riding through the streets at night. But maybe Thondrar would at least come back with Tarisilya and even with Legolas before the dawn already, and nothing would happen …

The guard at Arwen's door tilted his head her way when she approached, surprised that she hadn't gone to bed yet.

"I've gone back outside for a little while. I wasn't feeling well, and I hoped the cold air would help," she tried to explain herself, relieved that the man believed her.

"Something seems to be in the air. I'm feeling weird too." The man unfastened his water bottle from his belt. "I hope you'll feel better soon. And that there's no sickness spreading across the city." He took a big sip, wiped his eyes, and blinked a few times as if they were burning, as if he had trouble keeping them open.

"I don't think so. The events of the last few days have probably just taken their toll on us. You're working far too many double shifts. If you're feeling worse, better call one of your companions to fill in for you." Arwen would have preferred to release the man immediately from having to stand around here when he was doing so badly. But Aragorn wouldn't have accepted it if her chambers weren't being watched.

The guard slightly bowed. "Thank you for your kindness, but I hope that won't be necessary. Have a good night."

Arwen returned the greeting just as politely and then closed the door behind her.

After changing into her nightgown, she was sitting on her bed for a while, staring at the ground, before the tiredness got the better of her. Staying up all night wouldn't change anything now either. Now she could only pray to the Valar that they wouldn't punish Tarisilya for her love for Legolas that was driving her to do such an insane thing.

With a fast horse, the distance between Minas Tirith and Cair Andros was manageable. But when you had taken that road only two times so far – and back then, it had not been at night –, when the fear of being followed was breathing down your neck, a minute easily turned into eternity. Every tree, every bush that you would have looked at with interest by day, suddenly provided the danger of somebody hiding behind them. The usually sweet screams of animals sounded like a warning cry; every dry snap of wood under your horse's hooves had you startle.

Finally, Tarisilya stopped Brego because she needed to catch her breath for a moment, to go sure that she was really alone. This was _ridiculous_ ; she was a child of the night. Its beauty should have guided her instead of daunting her. But in such a capricious hour, when the moon that had just lit your way a second ago was now hiding, even a being of the night could lapse into uncertainty, especially when they had turned away from their roots as long as she had. That _she_ couldn't make out anything nearby but North Ithilien's active animal life didn't have to mean anything.

Brego on his part had been prancing aside again and again for a few minutes now. He usually only did that when he wanted to play, to cheer up his rider or tell him that something was wrong. Or when he was afraid – and they weren't even there yet. Too late, Tarisilya had just remembered that she had no idea if Brego was actually water-shy, like so many horses.

Once more she cursed Erestor for asking so much of Tercelborne all day with those trips that she could impossibly have demanded even more of the horse. Now she had no idea if Brego could even take her to where she suspected a vanishingly low chance for a hint of her husband. With a sigh, she leaned forward, resting her forehead on Brego's neck. What had she been thinking earlier? Truth was, she already was starting to despair on the way there. This whole thing was just too big for her, Arwen had been completely right about that. That a possible crisis might shake all of Gondor soon and therefore, no one else hadn't really seemed to worry much about a single missing elf, couldn't change that.

"Exhausted already? The soldiers of Gondor aren't what they used to be …"

The melodic voice out of nowhere, breaking the silence, had Tarisilya startle around, frightened before she recognized it. Well, at least it was no enemy, but that someone had managed to approach her so easily only made it plain what she had already realized in the last few minutes: She was completely helpless out here. Though she would have wished for a less vulnerable companion, she couldn't be angry with Thondrar. "Didn't I tell you to stay in bed?"

"I waited for my leg to stop bleeding. That's progress, isn't it?" He gifted her with one of these gleeful winks that occasionally caused the serenity of his aura to flicker, showing that behind all this valor and experience, there was still a little bit of mischief hiding.

"I have sworn to my two new leaders the same loyalty that has laid with an elven realm now dying for centuries. Don’t deny me fulfilling my duty by not letting me protect my Lady from her own carelessness."

"How could I? I'm really glad you're here." She leaned aside and put her hand on his shoulder for a long, grateful moment.

At least Thondrar seemed to be free of pain. Through the years, he'd learned a little bit about the art of healing from Lord Elrond himself. He'd probably helped himself with enough herbal tea before departure to see every single star in the sky double.

"You keep on staring at my leg like that, I'll be in trouble with your husband, milady." Even as a joke, such a lewd remark didn't quite seem to become him. Whether it was the chance to go back to battle or the drugs: He seemed to be in the best of moods.

Tarisilya felt a lot less like joking. No matter which way she looked at it, something bad must have happened or Legolas would never have left his group alone. Something must have happened to _him_.

"You would feel that, milady, even without your wedding bond." Only Thondrar's gentle reply made her realize, she had spoken aloud. "At least that's what they say in elvish circles, and that's what I was allowed to witness firsthand when the turn of the millennium of Men was celebrated in Imladris. When only your deep connection to your husband has saved both him and His Majesty Aragorn from certain death."

"Stop belittling your own achievements. It was your search party back then who ensured that they were found in time." A search party that would never have been sent if it had been for a certain black-clad Noldo by Elrond's side, but Tarisilya rather shouldn't be thinking about that right now. Or it wouldn't be just fear but also anger clouding her senses.

"As for my instincts: You just proved impressively how poor a shape they're in. Given how long I've ignored the voice of the moon, I can't trust my suspicions like I used to." Her hand automatically felt the silver bracelet that her father-in-law had given her for her wedding back then, with the first picture of her mother she had ever seen carved into a mysterious gem called Elcaradur. She just couldn't have left it behind. This was a part of her heritage that she would no longer ignore, just to not have to deal with the yearning for her family.

"You're finally hearing it again, that's all that counts." Thondrar spurred Alagas on to a faster speed so Tarisilya wouldn't be able to see his satisfied grin.

She saw it anyway and smiled back. Without Thondrar, she might have spent even more years, hiding from her own pain. Shortly after arriving in Minas Tirith back then, he had already shown her the right way, without her even realizing it at first.

That elf would become an excellent advisor for Legolas, she was sure about that. If he ever got the chance to. The smile vanished immediately.

"The blood on the cloak …"

"Warg-claws are sharp, they scratch the surface easily. That doesn't mean, such wounds are necessarily dangerous, especially when they're treated quickly." Thondrar's eyes, too, wandered to her bracelet for a moment. "You probably just didn't feel anything because your husband is not in immediate danger."

She appreciated him trying to cheer her up, but the hints just were very clear. "Legolas doesn't have a healer with him. And if he's not being hurt, why isn't he with the others?"

Thondrar thoughtfully drummed his fingertips on Alagas' saddle. "I think there's the same answer to both questions. Did you bring the cloak? I'd like to take a look at it."

"Give me a second." Tarisilya blushed a little when she shed the much-too-large soldier's cloak that had protected her from stares in the city, revealing the second one beneath it. Not only had that one made her look broader but it also gave her a feeling of warmth, in spite of the bloodstains on it.

She opened the brooch and wanted to give the piece of clothing to Thondrar but the look of deep disconcertment on his face had her pause. "What is it?"

"What in the world did you do to your hair, milady?"

Tarisilya couldn't help but give a sincere laugh.

Arwen probably would have dragged her back to the Citadel in chains earlier, given half a chance. The first thing Aragorn was likely to do when she came back was removing her of her status as Elf Consultant in the Houses of Healing because he thought her irresponsible. The mere thought of her being on her way to Legolas right now would have him die from worry.

And Thondrar's biggest concern was a few chopped off strands of hair.

"Lady Galadriel will be relieved. I almost became a competition for her." She returned Thondrar's wink from earlier and wrapped the soldier's cloak around her again, hiding her braid that was only hip-length since an hour ago. "It's more practical in case of us getting into a fight, that's all."

"Your husband will never forgive you that," Thondrar sighed, half-seriously, half-jokingly. At Tarisilya's impatient eye-roll, he rather turned to the coarse fabric in his hands, holding it into the pale moonlight with narrow eyes.

"And he'll have enough energy to scold you. That's not his blood, milady. Believe someone who smelled enough of it during construction," he added at her doubtful look. "This warg attack wasn't the first. We've killed many of them already, you never make it out of that without injuries. The Valar have blessed me with my father's good senses. There are some smells you don't forget. Whoever it was that wore this last, it wasn't your husband."

With her hands trembling, Tarisilya took back the cloak and let her fingertips graze the traces that had scared her so much. She had once had to save a beloved being from such deep claw marks, and the lost nerves in that spot gave Tegiend trouble to this day. So this unpleasant experience wouldn't repeat itself.

Given the circumstances, that was hardly a comfort. "Should I be alarmed that Erestor is actually right for once?"

"Milady?" As one of the few who knew exactly what that fight between Tarisilya and Elrond's chief advisor was about, Thondrar sounded only moderately interested in another tirade of hate towards someone he'd been knowing for much longer than she had.

"You guessed right. There _is_ an answer to all questions."

Tarisilya closed her eyes to blink away tears that wouldn't help anyone right now, no matter how painfully she felt being reminded of Rohan, of what had almost destroyed everything between Legolas and her there. Which was lost forever, unless the Valar would feel like gifting them with this miracle again one day, and this marked soul would be ready to come back to them then. Either way, this experience she would always carry with her like a scar in her heart.

And now it had maybe repeated itself, or that was still about to happen.

"Legolas is not alone. It's not himself he's saved from the wargs."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another couple of reminder notes ...
> 
> The incident Legolas is referring to happened right after the Battle of the Black Gate (series part #3). After her twin brother had left for Valinor, Tarisilya came searching for Legolas in Ithilien but collapsed from her bad physical and mental state. Aragorn's healing powers saved her that night in the sick camp of Cair Andros.
> 
> There is also a short throwback to part #6 of the series when Aragorn and Legolas ran into a pack of wargs in North Ithilien, a scene not unimportant for the following events in more than one regard.

_Your whole life, all of your eternity, I want you to remember how it feels when people populate a country that isn't theirs. You should have chosen the right side in this war._

_I can't go back. I can't live like this._

_You promised me! I'm waiting for you, don't you know that? Forever if I have to._

Quiet, fragile crying tore through the visions clouding a completely exhausted mind, cruel images allowing no escape in spite of the clear awareness of being asleep. While a heartbreaking scream was not a noise you enjoyed hearing, in this case, it was a relief; not only because it interrupted the forbidden rest before it could even really begin. As long as the baby was loud, it was _alive_.

Legolas noticed without surprise that his hand was trembling when he wiped his eyes to be able to see clearly again. It had only been a few seconds, but even a few seconds could be deadly when you had to be on the watch. And that his subconsciousness had immediately used this time to confront him with some of the worst moments of the war, those that were usually hidden behind a protective wall – built by Tarisilya in this terrible night back then –, just proved him right about avoiding too much sleep at a stretch as often as possible in the last few months.

"Keep an eye on me please." He turned to Tauriel who watched him in worry while trying to calm her daughter. "He's only waiting for a chance like this."

"You haven't had a rest in weeks, Legolas." His friend came to stand behind him and rested a gently massaging hand on his neck, to ease the pain from his cramped position. "It's only natural that your body stops doing its job at some point. I might not have a bow on me, but nothing's wrong with my senses. If anything out there changes, I'll wake you up."

"Your duty is a different one." Legolas nodded down at the bundle on Tauriel's arm, wrapped in several pieces of clothing. "How is she?"

"She's afraid, she's hungry, she misses her father … Want me to go on?" Tauriel's legs refused to carry her. With a suppressed sob, she dropped down next to the large, smooth boulder from which Legolas had been watching the narrow cave exit - through which there was hardly enough moonlight falling to make each other out - for endless hours, almost immovably. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to …"

"Go back." Trying hard to put friendliness and leniency in his voice, Legolas pointed to the rear part of the cave where Arod lay on the hard surface, breathing heavily and coughing. "Your hands are ice-cold. She needs warmth."

He tried in vain to suppress the thought that this warmth might not exist for much longer because Arod was doing increasingly worse. While the damp, cold surroundings did hardly have an influence on elves, they were even worse for a horse. Arod's bright fur was already clammy and dull already.

And that Tauriel's body was recovering from her high loss of blood so slowly that she was still freezing, made it clear that it was not only the baby and the horse who were in danger. But thanks to her short touch, Legolas did at least have a feeling, he could remain seated on this damn rock, without risking the sinews of his back and neck just snap like a too tautly strung rope at his next slight turn. Working with Lord Elrond on her formerly quite rudimentary medical skills in the last few decades had definitely been good for his old friend, even though her previous calling as a warrior would always prevent her from achieving the same miracles as other elvish healers.

As if Arod had heard his owner's order, he bristled at Tauriel approvingly so that she would lean back against him again. Not entirely selfless - after all, her healing hands had been helping him with the pain of his cold growing ever worse in return.

But the she-elf was too wrecked to immediately get up again. She pressed her baby close to her chest that had fallen into a restless sleep and eyed Legolas from the side until he answered her stare. "You know that we will die in here, right? At some point we'll be too tired to watch out, and then …"

"If there's only hopelessness in you, better bring your daughter to Arod; she'll get better care there." It was Legolas' turn to talk without restraint and apologize ruefully immediately.

"This night rouses too many memories of another. Right after the war, when I was almost ready to give up on the she-elf I love. If it hadn't been for the King, I might have killed Ilya with my own weakness. Don't let it come to that. Not while there's still a spark of strength left in either of us. I would say, the two of us have slaughtered worse monsters."

"That was before I put down my weapons as you should know. Where _is_ he?" In spite of Legolas' encouragement, there was still a hint of fear in Tauriel's narrow green eyes when she followed his glance.

The water streaks, glistening like silver in the darkness, didn't just shield this low dent in the earth of the Cair Andros. It also made it hard to make out what was going on outside when the glowing red eyes of the immediate danger weren't nearby. Sharp elvish ears could hear a warg's growl even over quiet gurgling, especially one as roaring as from an animal massive like the pack leader. In the last hours, it had been suspiciously silent. The leader was _waiting_.

"Too far away to hit him with such low visibility." Once again, Legolas took his drawn bow into his other hand to give the protesting muscles of the right one a break. "And that's where he'll be staying until he thinks us too worn out for an attack."

Legolas had already realized early in his life how much he hated making a mistake. There were always lives depending on archers not making any mistakes. If he wasn't able to stop a target before it approached, many could die. One should think, Helm's Deep, at the latest, would have carved this fact into his soul. He should have known better. He should have _aimed_ better, instead of wasting several arrows on injuring an animal of whom he actually knew exactly that it was being extremely tough.

At their last meeting already – back then on Legolas' search for Arwen with Aragorn –, the animal had only had a laugh to spare for a dagger in its side. Two much thinner missiles earlier that had caused much less damage, had hardly posed more than a temporary obstacle. The leader had a hint of respect for Legolas' bow, that was all. He would wait until he could be sure that no one would shoot him anymore before he would jump at the entrance – and that creature was patient.

"You killed all the members of its pack and hurt him badly." Again, Tauriel gifted Legolas with a supporting touch, on his arm this time that seemed to be singing every single of Eryn Lasgalen's laments in all pitches simultaneously. "Maybe he'll just die by himself soon."

"Then he would be long dead. Unfortunately, these bastards heal quite quickly." Legolas took proper aim again, shaking off her hand in the process.

As long as the Warg was able to see the shape of the arrowhead through the slowly swirling curtain of the waterfall, he would know better than to start running. Only because he didn't know how desperate his victims' situation was though. Because he couldn't know that he didn't have to expect much resistance.

"I can't promise you that we'll find a way out, Tauriel. We both have to keep believing in it firmly, but my promises usually ended with disappointed hopes in the last few years. I can only wait for this beast to lose patience and hope to hit the right spot this time."

"It can't have been that many promises you broke, or your wife wouldn't still be waiting for you so badly." Tauriel reached for Legolas' arm once more and didn't let him push her away this time, trying to let him feel the warmth that his own body, too, started to deny him more and more.

"For those of us who want to follow you to a new future, it's very painful, witnessing how much our leader is suffering. Not even your wife knows that the darkness threatens to choke you, does she? Don't look so surprised. Your words betray you when your tiredness overwhelms you. They already did when we were still on border service together. I wish you wouldn't deny yourself every help."

The cynical laughter answering her had her startle back all by herself now.

"How can you still talk about wanting to follow someone who, just like his father, only always plunges you into misery, Tauriel? How can you sit here, _with your child on your arm_ , worrying about someone who can't even ensure the safety of a handful of elves?"

"I don’t." At his harsh tone and the memory of the loss she had suffered in that one battle with the Dwarves back then, she couldn't stop the tears anymore that were falling onto her child's pale face and provoked a whimper from the little one. The baby wouldn't be sleeping for long.

"You're not your father, Legolas. The elf that I am worried about has protected both me and many other warriors many times. And now he has not only saved me from lethal danger once more, but he's also trusted someone else with the wellbeing of many others against his will. Don't you think I saw how difficult that was for you? You didn't think my husband capable of protecting the others, and still, you followed his request. Without you, neither I nor my baby would be alive right now."

"There should have been another way. But whenever I need to make such a decision, I fail to see it." This time, one of those short glances to the side that Legolas could allow himself without leaving the cave exit out of sight for too long, fell onto the child.

A very strong baby, born a few days after the calculated date, sporting much hair already, of the same red color as her mother's. A being completely healthy at least at its birth, with good qualifications, that was in fact being tougher than its mother right now who had to deal with her back being scratched open and giving birth in a cave, and who probably was only still alive because she was trained in the very art of healing that had always seemed so neglectable to her in the past.

And before the new day could even dawn, he might lose them both.

"I recklessly took on a responsibility that I was not ready for in any way, Tauriel. And now those I have gathered around me are in the hands of violent men."

"If there's _one_ thing hurting your qualities as a leader, it's your missing trust in your own people. Never underestimate an elf who wants to get back to his family. My husband's hands have once helped to reforge the sword of the King of the Reunited Kingdom, and he's a warrior just like you. You can rely on him taking on an enemy."

With some effort, Tauriel got to her feet. Trembling, with shaky steps, she felt her way back to the place where she had given birth, where only the warmth of a much bigger creature gave any kind of comfort. "If you insist on badmouthing the precious gift you gave to my husband and me, please do it silently. As you rightfully noticed, hopelessness won't do either of us any good here."

Legolas had another apology on his tongue; when he took a look back though, he could see in the weak light that Tauriel tried to breastfeed her baby once more, probably, again, without success. So he directed his attention back to the invisible threat. Now the ability to express himself properly with words that had never been one of his strengths anyway, had left him too.

Tarisilya was much better at such things. He almost wished, she would be here with him now. But he had already given up on his wife's proximity many months ago, to protect her from this area and to not burden her with the blackness inside of him on top of everything else, as she had already suffered enough in the last few years. Again, the worse of two bad decisions; he really had a talent for that.

Try as Tauriel and he might refuse to accept that: With every passing minute, the probability that they would make it out of this situation alive decreased. Tarisilya and he had parted on bad terms last time. After all that he had done to her, he wouldn't even get a chance to say good-bye to her now.

"Fain, _shut up_!" It had been long since Arwen had been woken up by her dog in the middle of the night.

Since the little one lived here, he'd been growing incredibly quickly. By now, his height almost reached her knees already. Actually, he'd long outgrown whining at her bedside because he felt lonely and wanted to snuggle.

As the animal just didn't want to fall silent, Arwen sat up sluggishly. Only now she noticed that, unlike in the past, Fain wasn't quietly whimpering or howling but growling. Confused, she got up to pull the curtains open, to let in the weak light from the torches in the courtyard, but when she spotted the dog, she paused.

She had frequently witnessed Fain be mistrustful; he hardly approved of anyone but Aragorn to get closer than a few feet to her or himself. But he was mostly just barking a little then.

Now he stood a bit away from the door, stock still, staring at it with one paw slightly raised, his head lowered, his lips pulled back threateningly. His fur stood on end from his neck to the tip of his tail. When she whispered his name and slowly approached him, he stepped up to the door, the dull rumble growing louder.

Wide awake now, Arwen knelt down next to the dog. While Fain accepted her hesitative caress on his back, he turned to stand in front of her now as if to hold her back … or to keep somebody away from her.

Arwen straightened up tensely. She should better go look what in the hallway could upset the dog so much; her hand twitched back at the last moment though. Since all that trouble with the Stewardaides had started, she was locking her chamber door on principle, as a precaution alone, in spite of the guard outside. Just like the door to her bedroom. When she focused consciously now, she finally heard what the animals' sensitive senses had long picked up on. What she would long have noticed herself, too, if she still had her elvish hearing. A scratching and shaking at the lock. The key in it was already wiggling a little. It was pushed out of place further and further.

Somebody was trying to get in here by violence, and there was only this one exit. Since the soldier in the hallway didn't do anything, he must have been eliminated.

Arwen was trapped; she could only wait for what was to come.

When the key dropped to the ground, she tore herself out of her short stupor and hurried back to the bed soundlessly, getting the dagger out from under her pillow. That she would, unfortunately, need it soon was probably beyond doubt.

Hectic voices that she could hear through the thick wood just confirmed that suspicion. " _Quiet_ , you idiot! Do you want to wake up the elvish whore?"

"Don't you worry about that. With how much of that stuff our dear friend has put into the wine, the bitch will sleep like a log until tomorrow."

"Only she won't live to see the sunrise. I hope that brew works on the King just as well."

"Of course it will. Now get out of here already! Take care of His Majesty before someone can find the guards. Then all of this was for nothing."

Arwen could hear heavy steps descending as the enemy left through the main door. Again, that noise as the other man continued to try and break the lock.

While the fragments of what she had just heard were being put together inside her irate mind, she sank to the ground next to Fain again. She fisted her hand in his fur calmingly, to ground herself, in these seconds before a battle that were always so nerve-wracking. She would have to be fast soon and couldn't allow herself a single mistake.

So the Stewardaides had indeed come to finish what they hadn't managed to do at Arwen's kidnapping back then. And the King they hated so much, they wanted to take right out, together with her. These people must have learned that the two of them were regularly having dinner together and were ice-cold enough to take advantage of that.

The current stress situation had caused Arwen an upset stomach though, that hadn't even been an excuse earlier. Which was why she had only been drinking water tonight. That stomachache, being one more mannish affliction she hadn't got used to yet, had probably saved her life.

She wasn't out of danger yet though. The weapon she had been training with for half of her life, was in a chest in the anteroom together with her combat gear, where the Stewardaid was waiting already. Wielding a simple dagger in the duel doubtlessly waiting for her might possibly not be enough if she didn't get herself together now. The training with Aragorn had brought that home to her just too painfully. She hadn't fully learned yet how to make up for what her body had been robbed of.

She could have barricaded herself, pushing the bed in front of the door, but that would only have saved herself. She had to help her beloved immediately. From here, she couldn't even let anyone know about this. Shouting out of the window could far too easily alert the wrong people.

The Stewardaides had done something to the usually so reliable guards this night. Arwen didn't even want to imagine exactly what.

Whatever she did, she would be on her own. With her jaw firmly thrust forward, she let go of her dog, forcing herself to get up. Grabbing the dagger handle so tightly that her knuckles protruded and turned white, she watched the shadows under the door crack. She hated what she would have to do in a minute like she always did when a conflict provoked the worst loss of all. There was no choice though. If she didn't seize the moment of surprise, the danger was too high that the man would injure her, possibly badly, or maybe did something even worse, and that his companion would kill Aragorn.

It was the fear for her beloved that had her heart beat so loudly in her chest that she was almost certain, the Stewardaid had to hear it when she went to stand next to the door, staying at an angle that wouldn't allow the enemy to make her out in the first moment. She signaled Fain to join her and be quiet.

The animal trembled all over its body when it followed the request. It eyed the door handle slowly moving now just as suspiciously as she did.

Arwen held her breath when a long shadow crept into the room, a bulky figure with a torch in their hand sneaked towards her bed where she had hastily bunched the sheet in such a way that on first sight and in the semidarkness it looked as if she was lying under it.

She could have just stormed out the door now but that would not eliminate the danger of being attacked by other Stewardaides possibly located in the Citadel. At least by the one on his way to Aragorn's chambers, especially when the man here would scream for help. There was simply no time to wait for backup – and who would come, anyway, seeing as the guards were apparently all neutralized? And she wouldn't be able to get to her sword quickly enough to defend herself without risk. From now on, she would definitely do it like Aragorn and keep her most effective weapon in a holder on the bedroom wall.

The decision was taken from her when Fain suddenly jerked loose from under her restraining hand on his neck and jumped towards the intruder, barking loudly.

The Stewardaid was apparently not prepared for a watchdog and held his arms in front of his face with a shriek when the animal's momentum flung him to the ground. The dagger in his hand slipped a bit away from him, and unfortunately, in the opposite direction instead of towards Arwen.

Before she could react, the Stewardaid made it to shake off the dog snapping at his throat by brutally punching its stomach which drew a tortured noise from Fain that hit Arwen to the core.

The guy seemed to notice Arwen from the corner of his eyes and jumped up with a roar, his dagger in his hand again already. His anger made the physically strong but badly trained fighter blind. His wide leap forward that should have pushed Arwen back against the wall, didn't get him far.

With a choked, bloody gargle escaping his throat, he paused, staring down at his chest from which several inches of a dagger blade were suddenly protruding. He was dead before his heavy body even hit the ground.

In her continuous haste, Arwen bent down to the man to turn him on his back and pull her weapon from his body, her lips tight. With the heel of her clean hand, she closed his shock-widened eyes, suppressing – as strictly as she had already learned to at the beginning of her battle training – every burn of regret, of guilt in her heart that she could only allow once she had the situation fully under control.

Straightening up, she wiped off the blood on her dress so that in a possible further fight, her hands wouldn't slip; then she called Fain who was cowering in distress in the corner that was his sleeping place.

To her relief, the dog came running to her neither limping nor revealing any sign of another impairment. She was careful anyway when she patted his side while pushing past the corpse, towards the door, not regarding it with another look to not lose her composure after all.

She could only breathe easy when she closed the door of her chambers, barefoot, simply wrapping her weapon's belt with her sword around her nightdress, and couldn't make out anyone in the hallway.

Scenting, Fain ran a few steps ahead and stopped abruptly at the next corner, looking back to her over his shoulder.

Arwen followed him quietly, always looking back herself to check if anyone was following her. She panted in surprise when she found the dog with the guard who originally assigned to her room.

The man sat leaning against the wall, completely lifelessly, but he was only unconscious as Arwen noticed with relief. Apparently, the Stewardaides had sedated the soldiers in the King's House as well.

That also meant though that there probably was indeed no one at the court who could come to help Arwen right now. And that it was unlikely, anyone would be around to guard the King.

In a clever move, the Stewardaides had lured away some of the most capable men from Minas Tirith, together with Faramir's troops, feigning another crisis north of the city, to close in for the final kill.


	6. Chapter 6

Driven by the worry about her partner, Arwen hurried on, keeping her attention firmly on the surroundings at every second. Again and again, she had to hide in empty rooms or scurry around the next corner when she heard foreign voices. Keeping Fain still with one hand wrapped around his muzzle became harder and harder. There were far too many Stewardaides in the Citadel, and she wouldn't have time to deal with them before she knew Aragorn to be safe.

It took her far too long to finally reach the King's chambers. Instead of the guards who were supposed to be there, who had indeed blacked out and plummeted to the ground there as well, there were two Stewardaides standing at the door, easy to recognize by the dark cloths covering their faces that Arwen remembered well from her kidnapping.

She paused once more. She could probably have overpowered these two just as easily as the man from before, but that would take time, it would give her away and a possible injury would hinder her from helping Aragorn quickly enough then with whatever was going on in his sleeping chambers right now.

Her eyes fell on Fain once more whose jet black hackles were still raised. Risky, but she didn't have a choice.

She bent down, hoping that the animal would understand and would, first and foremost, get itself to safety straght away. " _Go_!"

Fain approached the men, yapping, but then stopped moving, just planting himself before them instead.

The Stewardaides stared at him like fools, obviously indecisive about what to make of the four-legged visitor, if they should be paying attention to it at all.

And that was when a third guy came out of Aragorn's chambers and snapped at his accomplices, telling them to make the "fleabag" shut up before the King could wake up or somebody could become suspicious. Then he vanished again.

Arwen grabbed her sword's handle tighter. Aragorn was still alive then.

When the men approached Fain, the dog turned around immediately and ran down the hallway, still making lots of noise. The two of them hesitated for a moment, then they followed him.

Not for the first time that night, Arwen thanked the Valar for their grace. It wasn't too late yet. She just couldn't slow down for even a second now. Aragorn had saved her life more than once, and he'd risked so much for her in and after the war alone … She couldn't fail him.

Still not making any noise, she entered the chambers that were completely darkened and tried to get orientated. Her whole body was tense, prepared for an attack. Fortunately, there seemed to be just this one man in here whose shape she couldn't make out anywhere though. He must have already made it through the only door of these rooms that Arwen herself had never gone through so far.

It took her a moment to find the way without knocking something over. For the moment, she opened said door only an inch.

What she saw had her forget all caution instantly; there simply wouldn't have been even a second to jump forward anyway. Her only chance was to try and warn her beloved and to distract the guy who wanted to eliminate him at least for the short moment that she needed to step in. " _Aragorn_!"

The Stewardaid was standing by the bedside already, his arm raised high over the resting body of the King who hadn't heard him, thanks to the sleeping draught, in spite of his well-trained senses. Arwen's scream had the guy startle around. Noticing the danger that his plan was in immediately, he decided to go right through with it.

But Arwen hadn't just grabbed her dagger by now to hurl it straight onto the attacker, she also had managed to tear Aragorn from his sleep, which probably was mainly only thanks to him not having been dosed half as highly with the sleeping draught as the soldiers by that one glass of wine.

Still completely dazed from the drug's effects, her beloved opened his eyes only slowly. Spotting the blade, he instinctively rolled aside though.

Hit in the side with a diamond-sharp blade at the same moment, his attacker didn't have full control over his hand anymore. Unfortunately, the guy was tough; he never even stopped for one moment. So while his weapon didn't pierce Aragorn's throat as had been the plan, it was thrust deep in his shoulder.

With a hardly suppressed scream, the King got to his feet, still quite unsteadily. An exchange of blows immediately ensued between him and the similarly badly injured assassin that Aragorn was threatened to lose though, due to his hurt arm.

Arwen tried to help him but right now, her sword might hit Aragorn instead of the enemy by accident. Not even really thinking about it, she wrapped her arms around the Stewardaid's neck from behind and pulled him back with all of her weight, thereby cutting off his air.

It took the much heavier man only a few seconds to free himself. As he tossed Arwen to the ground, she hit her head on a dresser's edge so badly that she had to fight dangerous blackness before her eyes.

Fortunately, that was enough time for Aragorn to pick himself up. He rammed his healthy shoulder against the Stewardaid with all of his strength, shoving him outside into the living chambers. Before his enemy could get up, Aragorn slammed the door and turned the key.

He stumbled back, suppressing the pain from his injury obviously with all he had, as the noise of an impact revealed that the man outside was throwing himself against the obstacle. His eyes flickering, they searched the room until they found the big arched window facing the garden.

In a flash, he was there and braced himself against the massive cabinet close by. "Arwen!"

Ignoring a bout of revolting dizziness, she hurried to get there, pulling from the other side so that they managed to put the piece of furniture in front of the glass together. Arwen was relieved that her beloved was reacting so quickly, in spite of being so dazed. As long as they hadn't assessed the situation better and Arwen hadn't given Aragorn some first aid, locking themselves in was the only chance to stay out of danger.

And they hadn't done it a second too soon. Before the last gap between the cabinet and window frame was being closed, Arwen could see several silhouettes gathering in the garden. Even more rumbling against splintering glass and stable wood sounded when the rest of the Stewardaides tried to get to them.

Now they could hardly see anything anymore, but Aragorn didn't pause for even a second. Under his stifled panting, he pushed Arwen to the exit to secure it, too, in case the lock would give in. They felt their way to the writing desk by the wall next to it and somehow managed to heft in front of the door together.

Arwen meant to close her eyes, to catch her breath for a second of relief but the loud hiss next to her quickly reminded her that there was no time for rest. "How bad is it?"

"Try to get a fire going. It's in the wall to the right."

Something about her beloved's voice made Arwen's blood run cold. She had rarely heard it tremble in such a way before. That Aragorn was actually _afraid_ of something, sounding downright helpless … That had never happened since she knew him. She didn't even need to see the wound to guess the answer to her question.

It took her longer than she liked before her clammy hands had found all the necessary utensils. In spite of the flames blazing high, she started to freeze on the inside more and more as delayed shock set in.

When she turned around to see to Aragorn, it felt for a moment as if her body was turning to ice as well. "By the Valar …"

Her beloved had collapsed. All of his strength seemed to have left him. He didn't even manage to remove the dagger. Blood leaked from the wound incessantly, and his face was twisted into a grimace.

Kneeling down next to him in deep concern, Arwen eyed the ugly injury and Aragorn's features that were quickly losing all color in turn. Never had she regretted it so much in her life that she had always neglected to acquire deeper knowledge about healing in favor of her warrior training. Aragorn needed help posthaste, and it was everything but certain that she could give it to him sufficiently.

She laid her hand lightly on his cheek to get him to look at her. "Estel. The wound."

"Give me a minute."

Whatever it was that he could read in her eyes apparently confirmed his suspicions regarding certain prior events this night. He eyed her from head to toe several times and put his good hand on her side. "Your gown is full of blood. Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, gave an impatient growl when Aragorn startled with a loud moan. "Will you _stop_ worrying about _me_? How are _you_ doing?"

As if she seriously needed an answer to that. And yet she was being more certain by the second that she would have to hear it. And that she would not like it.

"Well, what does it look like?" Aragorn forced a smile for his beloved. One that only lasted until his shoulder muscles clenched around the blade though.

The wound burned like fire. In complete contrast, coldness gradually started to spread in his arm, eating deeper and deeper into his body. If he didn't act now, this could end damn badly. "I need a few blankets and my dagger. Don’t worry. Once the guards notice what's going on here and take these bastards prisoner, everything's going to be alright." Unfortunately, Arwen knew him too well to not realize that he tried to radiate more confidence than he had right now. In a crisis situation, he usually wasn't that talkative.

No matter how these scumbags had managed to temporarily rob him of his senses so much, this time they had come at him from behind in more than one way. If he was out of luck, if Tarisilya or his foster father wouldn't be able to work another of their small miracles, he might never be able to fully use that arm again.

And for such a healing attempt or an urgent request for help to Imladris to possibly happen at all, he had to get out of this room first. And quickly, too. Something was wrong. That was by far not the first blade being buried in his body, but the first time for a weapon to seemingly drain him more with every second. Aragorn had fought in too many wars, for too long, to not know what that meant.

"There won't be anyone coming for some time, Estel. They made sure of that." Without leaving the door out of sight, behind which there was still rumble sounding, Arwen bundled a clean, white coverlet on the dresser together that had got the least share of bloodstains and got two more from the cabinet. Together with the weapon that Aragorn always kept under his pillow, she laid them down beside him.

She watched him struggle to cut the first blanket into stripes only for a moment before taking the dagger from him to take matters into her own hands. That way at least, she didn't need to look at him when she informed him what had happened to the soldiers. That his enemies had hit him even harder than thought.

"It's possible, no one will notice anything before the change of guards in the morning."

It had been a while since Aragorn had last been that speechless. It seemed, the Stewardaides had shattered all his defenses within a few minutes. These people would once more make sure that this country's citizens wouldn't feel safe anymore, that they would doubt his rule … If that rule would even still exist at daybreak.

Aragorn put a trembling hand over his eyes and closed them for a long moment. He had never been a man who feared pain or ever gave up. But he'd never indulged in illusions either. And right now, he was in trouble.

To escape his men's still very confused and partly even hostile glances alone, Faramir had agreed when Barhit had offered to show him the camp. Getting to know the enemy base could never hurt, though the bad lighting by scattered torches made it impossible to examine everything carefully. What he _could_ see shocked Faramir enough already.

The Stewardaides hadn't been idle in the months since Aragorn's coronation. Daggers, swords, spears … Remains from a number of different warzones, forged both by men and Sauron's henchmen. Though this group here was being half as small as Faramir had feared – albeit he didn't harbor the illusion that he had spotted all the members already –, it made up for that with equipment, that much was for sure. Judging by the size of the horse paddock at the clearing's edge, there were more animals existing than the ones waiting there, too.

And Faramir didn't miss how many gravestones they were passing on their way either. Some inscriptions told of men that Faramir had personally led into battles once. Carved below, dates that, in some cases, revealed the far too few summers the dead had seen.

While under different circumstances he would have felt mercy for people who sacrificed so much for an entirely misguided aim, this sight just increased his anger. The Stewardaides were dragging many innocents into this. If Faramir wanted to prevent a catastrophe, he had to come here with a troop of capable warriors soon to secure this dangerous place.

One more reason why he had to give Barhit a false sense of security. He wanted to take as many of these men as possible, and he wanted them alive. If he sounded the attack now, not only would far too many die, but a lot of the enemies would escape, too. He had to wait for the perfect opportunity. No matter what kind of rumors were going around in Minas Tirith right now, he was sure, Aragorn would have agreed to this strategy.

The nagging reproach in his own soul that he had more, not so honorable scruples, he suppressed for the moment.

"You are showing the progress of your upgrades to the wrong man," he finally remarked when Barhit led him back to the others.

"Upgrades?" Barhit laughed bitterly. "That's how little faith you have in your own folk? We cleaned up, nothing more. In every village we passed in the last few months, we removed the traces of war. Every orc group crossing our way was an unrecognizable pile burning at the wayside just a few hours later. We all saw more than enough violence, but we're not afraid to use it to wipe out dangers for this realm. We want as many weapons as possible to vanish from Gondor. That's why this camp is being guarded so hermetically. These blades cannot fall in the wrong hands. Here, help yourself. My throat starts to dry up."

He handed Faramir an empty cup and waved one of his people close who uncorked a wine bottle in front of everyone and poured some out for both of them. "Since you seem to have lost your belief in your most loyal supporters … To your health." Barhit emptied half of his cup without pausing even once whereupon the thin tissue that was left of his cheek stretched so thinly as if it would tear anytime soon.

Faramir expected a clearer invitation, but it never came. Apparently, Barhit wanted to keep playing his role and not push him into anything, not even into the smallest concession. Since the air in this area was unpleasantly dry almost everywhere, Faramir finally followed his example and took a few sips himself.

Barhit nodded at him appreciatively, probably assuming, he'd achieved a little victory. "We're doing the work that actually, the army should be busy with. A glorification of blades is for Dwarves and Elves."

"The same Dwarves and Elves that we'd never have won the war without?" Faramir asked sharply. "Who are now rebuilding our city while you prefer preparing another battle in the dark instead of joining the soldiers? If you're all so worried, why not support them officially?"

"None of our words ever criticized Dwarves," Barhit answered coolly.

"Though Men would have good reason to complain. As far as I know, it was the Dwarves who unleashed a monster of incredible power in Moria. But it's obvious that they're trying to make up for their mistake now and seek a lucrative partnership with us, while the Elves are rather fleeing in droves. I can't see what Firstborn ever did for this world except for enjoying its merits and then leaving it alone when they were needed most. Under a leader so smitten with one of these deceitful beings though, such words can't legally be said, so let us please not pretend, we would be welcome in the army. Let's cut this out. I don't expect you to share my opinions. I only want you to understand us."

"You make that hard, trying to turn me into an icon of your fight with the same rabble-rousing words from your flyers."

Faramir sank down on a fallen tree-trunk and paused until his conversation partner sat down on one across from it, always keeping an eye on the men standing around them. "How do you expect people to believe that you want to solve this conflict without violence when you can't make yourself heard without it?"

"And whose fault is that? When we came to talk to the people in charge for the first time, we weren't even allowed to _see_ the King. He preferred to spend time with his beloved at Cair Andros because that Rivendell she-elf so badly wanted to play hero at the Black Gate. _Heroes are those who get other people killed._ Wasn't it you who once told me that? And then the King rather held the hand of another she-elf as well instead of saving badly injured soldiers or listen at least to the voice of his people. Afterward, he left the city instead of facing the consequences of these wrong decisions. Since he's come back, he hides away in his tower and only invites a small selection of people for audiences. No one's ever listened to _us_. It saddens us just as much that one can't achieve anything with words in a city that has seen millennia of battle. Take a look around."

With a wide gesture, Barhit pointed at the bystanders. "Are any of your people hurt? Or has any of the elves suffered damage earlier? No, those are already being safe now already, without a doubt, and that although I really have no love for these sweet talkers."

"That's not exactly a secret, given you have kidnapped and tortured another she-elf not too long ago," Faramir barked at him, no longer ready to listen to facts being twisted.

"Sad to say, but yes. Originally, a simple message should have been delivered to the King. One of my people completely snapped instead. I'm not exactly happy about that either. That guy is one of those now serving their well-deserved sentence in the dungeons of Minas Tirith, by the way. Therefore, I never got the chance to punish him for his transgression." Barhit huffed scornfully. "I can't control every single one of them. The men resent the King too much for his deeds for that."

"And the child that has died because of you?" Contrary to the apparent belief of his soldiers who whispered among each other with growing rage, Faramir couldn't be convinced so easily. "What was that, maybe an accident? Acceptable damage in your oh so noble fight for a cause that no one but you even wants to join?"

"No one?" Barhit jumped up with clenched fists, whereupon Faramir's people stepped forward immediately, held back only by Faramir's brief gesture.

"Do you have even a single proof that it was _us_ , setting fire to the stables? Not to mention that this child, as far as I know, has died under the hands of one of these elves who has been ordering everyone in the House of Healing around in the last few months … Let me tell you that we are not the only ones who don't want to submit to a wildling of the North who only showed up here at all at the end of the war and claimed to have a right to the throne. We're just the only ones who have the guts to say it since people have to worry they’ll be stricken down by the same blade that led them into a hopeless battle at the Black Gate if they say anything wrong at all!"

"You better be careful with what you call 'hopeless'." All that delusion drew a harsh little laugh from Faramir. "Without that battle, the One Ring would never have been destroyed, and Gondor would long lay in ruins."

"Can you tell? You haven't even been in that battle, have you?" Honest compassion was written in Barhit's disfigured face when he reminded Faramir of the worst time of the war when it had been him, fighting death in the Houses of Healing.

"We were never told the reasons why we should court death unprepared instead of calmly gathering our troops and thinking about a new strategy, for example. Everything about the Ring was decided without the people who shed their blood for it. How many men died in Mordor? How can you want someone leading this realm who makes such huge sacrifices without batting a lid? That second class Ranger might be a good warrior, but he's got no business being on the throne. We need someone governing this country with heart and spirit. Why don't you ask the people at least if maybe they think so too? All we want is a friendly ear for citizens like us."

"You have it, or I would have silenced you for your insolence already." Faramir emptied his cup and put it aside. After the long, exhausting ride, cooling down had done him good. While the wine should have actually dulled his senses, he suddenly saw clearer than he had all night.

What was happening here wasn't just the product of a single misguided man. Countless factors had contributed to this whole thing blowing up so much. And it wouldn't get any better if his people executed a violent act now. That would only have scared the silent doubters of the new order that were indeed existing in Gondor. There had to be a different solution.

"You claim, you want to get your way without sword or bow; so tell me, what is it that you demand instead?"

"Steward, with all respect …" One of the soldiers couldn't contain himself any longer. He stepped forward, seemingly ready to attack Barhit with his bare hands if he raised his voice again.

"Go back to the others," Faramir ordered. "Your duty is ensuring the safety of this conversation, not leading it."

The men's murmurs grew louder. More of them were visibly wondering if they maybe had to act.

"Nothing that you can't fulfill; that much I can promise you." Barhit didn't let the little incident throw him off balance. "Make sure that my people can return to the cities that are their home without fear, then they'll do it unarmed. Make sure that we can talk to the people without being silenced, then we don't have to spread any more writings. And first and foremost: Prepare the bargaining table, finally, that the King never wanted to offer to us. Then no one will be harmed anymore. All we ask is the right for every citizen to decide for themselves what they want to hear and see and who they want as their leader. I don't think that's asked too much."

" _He's lying_!" another of Faramir's men shouted. "He just wants to get you on his side, Steward! Don't let that man manipulate you."

"You're hearing the words that your people would also be met with in the city." At least for the moment, Faramir had lost the aggression that he'd confronted Barhit with earlier. "Things are not half as easy as you're picturing them. This isn't something I can decide in a few minutes."

"I'm not asking you to." Barhit shook his head with a triumphing smile.

"It will take a while before your man comes back from Minas Tirith. What, do you seriously think I didn't see him run away? We have nothing to hide. Not anymore. Let the King's soldiers come. When they do, the two of us will know where our next path leads us."

"At least that much is for sure."

After Barhit's approving nod, Faramir instructed his man to stand their ground and retreated to the clearing's edge to think.

Originally, he'd wanted to learn more about the Stewardaides here, but this was not how he'd thought that would go. He'd just heard several things that made considerations about how to render these rebels harmless quickly, difficult. He was glad to be able to be alone for a while.

Maybe it would indeed suffice to wait here until reinforcements from Minas Tirith would arrive and he could clear a few things with Aragorn that had been left unspoken for far too long already.


	7. Chapter 7

The few minutes that had passed since the attack had dragged on like hours.

Aragorn was sitting on the ground with his head tilted back, closing his eyes again and again. Arwen knew, he was trying to gather his strength and think about the messy situation; so once she had rid him of his sleeping tunic and, under his instructions, had bandaged the wound around the blade – as firmly as possible to stop the worst of the bleeding –, she left him alone.

Just like expected, this was all she could for her beloved as long as there was no healer nearby. But Aragorn's gradually more worrisome appearance made it hard to keep calm. Though he was hardly losing any blood anymore, he was white as a sheet, he was trembling badly, and breathing too heavily. There weren't even any of his usual healing herbs in here which she could at least have used to brew him some pain-relieving tea. For the moment, he had to stand this.

With a candle-holder from the table, she started to light the candles scattered in the room, not without anxiously looking back and forth between Aragorn and the door several times, behind which angry voices were sounding occasionally.

When at least the room was finally really bright, she knelt down next to her beloved again and rested a careful hand on his cheek. She cursed soundlessly in two different elvish languages when his eyes turned her way. Only now could she make out Aragorn's clearly dilated pupils. The sleeping draught alone couldn't have done that. There had been poison on the blade. "Tell me what I can do."

"Nothing that you'll particularly like." With clenched teeth, Aragorn straightened up, bracing himself against the wall, and nodded to the handle of the dagger that had pierced his shoulder from the side. "I need it out and I can't wait any longer. But I'm too weak to do that alone right now." Anger about his own condition and on how he had earned it marked his features but vanished as quickly as it had come. There was no use, getting upset about him being careless; both of them had been.

He eyed Arwen with a bad conscience. "Do you think, you can do make that? Can I ask this of you?"

"This is not the first time I'm seeing blood, mîl nín. But are you sure, we'll get the bleeding under control afterward?" Skeptically, Arwen stared at the spot where the shape of the dagger was bulging under Aragorn's skin.

"In my time in Gondor's and Rohan's armies, I've been riding with worse injuries for days at a stretch." Aragorn put a weak smile on his face. "We've got enough supplies for bandages. Get a few cotton clothes, in case the sheets won't last. The tailor will surely be delighted to be allowed to create replacements later."

Suppressing moans again and again, he waited for Arwen to get a few tunics and cut them into strips of equal length as well. "You don't even have half as little practice with these things as you keep telling me. There seems to be _some_ of ada's talent in this field in you as well."

"It's been centuries since I last helped him with patient treatments. I deal in death far too often to be a good healer as you know."

And that wasn't the only reason why it took Arwen longer than necessary to get everything ready. Though she had often helped out with seeing to the badly injured on the many battlefields she had seen in her life … Never before had she had to lay hands upon her beloved of all people in such a way. Just imagining it had her stomach turn. What was about to happen here would involve a lot of pain on Aragorn's part. And if she did something wrong, causing him possibly even more agony …

Only Aragorn's steady calmness and also the strictness, that he let her know with, there was no other way, had her put her hands around the dagger. She braced one knee on his leg to prevent a too-strong and uncontrolled twitch of his body and waited tensely until Aragorn signaled her that he was ready. Taking a deep breath, she moved to pull the weapon out of his body with a quick jerk. But the blade budged only a quarter-inch. New, very dark blood poured from the wound immediately, and Aragorn's loud scream had Arwen startle back. "It's stuck. We'll have to wait …"

"Arwen …"

"No! I can't risk it to make it even worse." She moved to get up but froze at once when Aragorn was suddenly shouting at her.

"Get that damn dagger out of there _right now_ , Arwen!" Aragorn had to turn his head away; he could visibly hardly take it himself to treat her of all people so harshly. But the truth was simple: Between them, he was the healer. If he said, they had no choice, she had to obey.

"If my suspicion is right, you'll soon see why."

Arwen nodded briefly. "I just remembered _exactly_ why I despise weapons so much."

"You'll just have to ignore me if I scream, mîl nín. Just do it quickly."

"Yes." Unwilling to torture him any longer than necessary, she took the handle again and tugged on it with all her might before she might lose her courage for good.

Again this unusual resistance. He tried his best, but Aragorn couldn't bite back another yell right against her ear, so loud that Arwen had to be afraid to fall deaf.

But she carried on. After a few more endless-seeming seconds and a last yank, the dagger finally came loose. Arwen almost toppled over backward, dropping the weapon with a disgusted, hateful scream.

The blade wasn't smoothly shaped. It had three notches on each side of the tip that had been buried deep in its victim's body, like barbs. Arwen must indeed have unwittingly worsened Aragorn's injuries significantly.

She hadn't even seen a dagger of this kind on orcs so far. It wasn't the first clear demonstration of the cruelty that the Stewardaides used that her beloved and she were seeing.

Arwen didn't waste even one precious moment on letting that scare her even further. She had to get the crisis at hand under control before she could worry about the future.

Aragorn had already grabbed some of the prepared bandages and was pressing them on the wound as tightly as he could. But he was still caught up in his agony far too much to apply enough pressure.

Arwen hastily started to wrap more bandages around his arm and shoulder until they covered the injury completely. A few times she had to pull so firmly that more sounds of torment escaped Aragorn's lips, but it seemed to help at least. After she had stared at the white fabric for long seconds of uncertainty, seeing how it got soaked in blood more and more, the stain, fortunately, stopped growing.

Relieved, she wanted to make sure that Aragorn had somehow made it through the radical procedure, but he reacted neither to her quiet questions in her own language nor to her tender touches on his forehead anymore.

For minutes, her beloved was spaced out. Only his racing breath and the way, his healthy hand turned into a fist repeatedly, gave away that he hadn't blacked out.

Finally, he made it to open his eyes again. Reaching for some leftover fabric immediately, he wrapped it around the dagger before lifting it to look at the blade. A harsh growl came from his distorted lips. "Did you cut yourself, Arwen? Or has one of the men earlier hurt you maybe? Better go sure. Even a small wound is enough."

"No. Nothing's wrong with me." More shocked by what she'd just done than she should be, Arwen drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

Aragorn's somber expression just scared her even more. It was clear that he had already realized something that her own mind was still struggling to accept. "Are you sure?" He visibly had to focus hard on his waning strength to be able to lean forward a bit and hold the dagger into the fire.

With her eyes wide open, Arwen watched dark smoke suddenly arising from the dagger that vanished only slowly through the outlet. A sharp smell of yew, tar, aconite, and a number of other ingredients, doubtlessly extremely harmful, penetrated the air.

"Hundred percent. What was that stuff?"

"I don't know what it's called. All I know is that there is actually no way, these people can have it." Aragorn sounded extremely sober once he'd somehow managed to accept the grievances for now. With Arwen's help, he arduously got up, sank down next to the fireplace because he was freezing even more than he'd already had.

"I should express my deepest respect to the Stewardaides, for their good research. So far, I only heard about this poison, that's how difficult it is to brew. The plant that it is primarily being extracted from does hard even bloom on Middle-earth anymore."

Arwen took the last sheet still intact from the bed and carefully wrapped it around her beloved's shoulders before putting her arm firmly around his waist. She dreaded asking any further questions because she had never seen an expression of such hopelessness on Aragorn's face. "How bad is it?"

Instead of an answer, Aragorn wiped away a few tears that had rolled down her cheeks without her having realized it, as the ongoing shock turned them numb. "How did you know what was going on here anyway?"

This time, she reported the events in her chambers in detail, nuzzling against his hand every now and then, with hers firmly put on his.

The deepening wrinkles of grief and regret around Aragorn's eyes and the corners of his mouth sent ice-cold shivers down her spine. "Estel?"

"You better should have run. That would at least have spared you all this."

"You can't be serious. The guy would have stabbed you in your sleep, do you even realize that?" Arwen broke away from him in offense but was given only a feeble smile instead of an apology.

"That might have been better. That would have spared _me_. _That's_ how bad it is." Aragorn tilted his head back against the wall and fell silent once more.

Sudden panic tried to choke Arwen and provoke even more tears.

She really shouldn't have asked.

At some point, Thondrar just couldn't deal with his curiosity anymore and cautiously asked Tarisilya what it was that she thought to be able to achieve at Cair Andros that Faramir's soldiers had already combed diligently.

"Making contact, hopefully, once the distance shrinks. The direction checks out, I'm pretty sure about that by now. Prince Faramir's people are doing a good job, but they are all of them a little too young," was the not very helpful answer. "When was the last time _you've_ been to Ithilien before Lord Glorfindel asked you if you wanted to serve my husband as his advisor there?"

It had been an obligatory question, accordingly astonished, she looked at him from the side when he went silent, his drive lost in a stare into the distance. This she-elf somehow had a talent for hitting his weak spot.

"Why do you want to live in a country that causes you so much grief?"

"That grief is long buried, milady." With clenched teeth, Thondrar massaged his leg because the pain started to come back.

"It would be pathetic for a warrior, being unable to face it after all this time. At least most of what poisoned this land back then is long gone. Our work gives me the feeling that I’m doing something against what means to spread here again like a shadow of Gondor's past. I never judged Men for what a few of them are doing from time to time. I've seen them accomplish too many great deeds for that. Which brings me back to the question if you don't think trained soldiers capable of following a track."

"That track stopped right here." Tarisilya nodded down at the river they were riding along, straight ahead although the path was not always and the horses often had a hard time dealing with the shore’s bumpy ground, the undergrowth causing the animals to stumble more than once.

"If you haven't seen this land in a long time before your return, you probably can't know the kind of changes, Men made here. The power of the centuries had many of the Anduin’s branches subside; others were poisoned by battle. A few of them were manipulated by mannish hands though, to make space or to prevent catastrophe. Or to grant people in another place cover."

"I know Henneth Annûn, milady." Only even more confused, Thondrar waited for an explanation. "Its entrance was created long before Prince Faramir became his Rangers’ leader."

"And where do you think the idea for that came from?" Tarisilya smiled mischievously. "Several other caves in this area are protected by nature that way. They were just too small for a base. The only reason _I_ know that is because my husband discovered a couple when wandering North Ithilien shortly after the victory over Sauron, even before we accompanied His Majesty Aragorn west. When your group moved here last fall, he would have shown me the caves if time hadn't been so short. As it is, I can only take the path that we couldn't walk back then and hope to find them without him, too."

"There's been heavy showers in the whole area in the last few hours." Thondrar felt incredibly dumb for not coming up with this obvious clue himself. "Earlier, the river was probably still shallow enough for Arod to be able to lose the wargs on this path, or to keep them off his back at least."

"Not the whole time, apparently." Tarisilya dismounted at a spot where the water was flowing slightly lowlier and the bright moonlight revealed not only furrows of claws in the earth but also dried blood and hoof prints.

On the surrounding meadows, they quickly spotted many half-eaten, half-rotted corpses of those bloodthirsty monsters who had already inflicted so many casualties on Men in the war.

Tarisilya wasn't the only one who shuddered when the picture tried to suggest itself just too clearly, of how the wargs had been hunting their victims, too many to shoot them one by one, especially when you weren't alone. This it must be where they had struck then. They'd only had to wait for the right moment ...

"By now, the other animals should have long removed the carcasses." Thondrar wrinkled his nose at the repulsive smell a little. "That probably means, the escape from the rest of the pursuers continued."

They looked up at the same time, staring at a smaller river emptying into these waters, the last of it streaming down the steep mountain-side. It was littered with sharp, pointed rocks that offered just as little purchase as the almost vertically descending riverbed itself. An ascent that the wargs had surely recoiled from and no rider would have been crazy enough either to …

Tarisilya's slow nod, the way, she grazed her temple for a moment, completely absently, unfortunately, had him know better already. "Has your husband lost his mind?"

"Arod made it through worse areas. He's got strong legs." But Tarisilya had to rub a shiver from her arms.

"Milady." Thondrar gently grabbed her chin, the way he'd brought her back to reality a few times already when memory or fear – or both – threatened to take over.

"Not now. If you're right, there's one of these little caves on that plateau up there. The rush of water makes it hard to tell, but I'm almost certain, there's an animal pacing back and forth close by. You have led me far enough. Stay here. Make sure, Brego can get you out of here quickly in case of emergency."

"No." Just a whisper, so timid that Thondrar already started voicing another order, but then Tarisilya tore away from him.

"I can't. Not this time. Please, Thondrar … Even if you're the only one, I know you can understand me."

For seconds, he stayed silent. His chest was heaving considerably faster, shaken by all the feelings – loyalty, pride, and a memory of something that only his father and he knew – raging in him.

Then he grabbed Tarisilya's shoulders firmly. "You will stay behind me. _Every single second_."

"Given I don't have to shield my husband, yes," she answered firmly, without avoiding his sight.

"I won't let it come to that." Thondrar forced himself to step back before a discussion that he wouldn't win anyway could waste even more time.

Turning to Alagas, he ordered him in Sindarin to stay where he was and take care.

When he looked back, Tarisilya had already started to ignore his order. At least she hadn't started to climb the rocks without him as he'd feared but had run to the dead wargs.

"Milady?"

"Just a feeling." Tarisilya tugged on an arrow in one of the carcasses in disgust which produced a meaty, dry sound. The weapon broke before she could free it so she was forced to touch the animal that she tried it with next.

The smell almost took their breath away. The maggots and worms crawling over the dead tissue didn't make it better. It was one thing, loving nature and all the life in it, and being connected to it. Feeling low creatures on your own skin that were feasting on corpses was a whole different story.

Tarisilya was visibly relieved when Thondrar joined her and pulled not only several arrows from the mutilated bodies with a calm, trained hand but also Legolas' characteristic twin daggers, and collected a few scattered missiles stuck in the ground, too.

"You're right. There are too many." The pointed arrow-ends carved into the typical shape, with the feathers on them, also left no doubt about which bow they could only belong to. "It's every archer's biggest fear, that their quiver is empty at some point. Endless arrow supplies exist only in badly written books."

"I would prefer you to give me such lectures on our way home." Judging by her grimace, Tarisilya had to hold back from running ahead after all.

"Don't challenge me. The kind of tales I'm telling always give the elflings nightmares." Now Thondrar had found his smile again for good.

All considered the situation could have looked a lot more hopeless. If they didn't make any mistakes now and had a little bit of luck on their side, they would be back in the city in time to have breakfast with the King.

Her companion once more really tested Tarisilya's patience when they were finally on their way up to the plateau. The exercise, actually a cakewalk for a fit elf, proved too much for his injury to handle. He had to pause and shake out his leg again and again.

Tarisilya cursed not having thought of providing him with another load of herbs on the way. Now she could only hope that he would be able to stand his ground against a strong enemy anyway. With every passing minute, she realized more how big the risk really was that she had taken by leaving Minas Tirith, not only for herself but also for her patient. Just a single small mistake out of lost focus, and …

She almost slipped on a very smooth rock and had to suppress a yelp when she noticed how far they'd come already and that it would have been a _long_ way down. She silently thanked Beregond once more for the uniform he'd provided her with. Not only would she probably have fallen without the gloves; she'd possibly also earned a few unpleasant cuts by now.

"I'm alright," she quickly assured Thondrar at his critical glance. "Really, just …"

She paused.

Now Thondrar heard it as well, that which the loud gurgling had swallowed so far. She saw it in the anger contorting his youthful face immediately. Anger on these beasts terrorizing North Ithilien, just scattered remains of the war's battles whose numbers just didn't seem to dwindle though.

The warg was standing close to the plateau's edge located just a few feet above them. Fortunately, he was being so loud himself that his keen ears hadn't picked up on the voices below him so far.

Thondrar signaled Tarisilya to be quiet and pulled her up to him.

They were lucky. By the time they carefully peeked over the edge, the animal on his restless walk had departed again. A couple of thick bushes provided additional cover.

Peering through their leaves, they had their suspicion confirmed. Two more dead wargs lay on the plain that measured just a few square feet and was covered by dead grass. They were smaller than the one repeatedly barking at the waterfall that streamed from the mountain top down to the plateau. In the pale moonlight, the animal's dark fur looked almost black, his long row of teeth flashing with every roar. The red eyes glowed far beyond the plain and made it easy to track him.

Behind the water, the faint silhouette of a person and the longish, thin one of a bow were visible.

"Why doesn't he just shoot him?" Tarisilya allowed herself a whisper, perceptible only for ears of elves at close range. Hopefully, the warg wouldn't scent them either as long as they didn't get any closer.

There was a voice screaming in her head, demanding to run there immediately, now that she finally knew what had happened here. Or at least to talk to her husband in her mind, let him know that he wasn't alone. But she was much too agitated for that, and probably so was he. How long had Legolas been stuck in this situation already? Without knowing what had happened to the other elves, without hope that someone would come …

She blinked away tears angrily. She hadn't come all this way just to let her feelings stop her now.

"Too dark, and the obstacle of the water is too big. There's probably just one arrow left, too." Thondrar uttered a curse in a language that Tarisilya didn't speak. His own bow had been destroyed when the wargs had attacked the camp. High on pain-relieving herbs earlier, he'd apparently not remembered to bring someone else's along. It would probably have been a little complicated, too, to explain to a guard why he needed to borrow one for his sick room so badly.

"Don't move, milady." This time he could spare himself the strict expression.

Tarisilya had already left the ledge from which they couldn't have climbed the plateau anyway as long as there was a guard.

She was kneeling by the riverbed, hastily shedding her cloak, gloves, and belt, and the clunky boots, too. When she was just about to discard the breastplate, Thondrar's hand came to rest heavily on her shoulder.

"Do you think you're faster than an animal on four legs, milady? Against the current no less?"

"He doesn't know we're here." Tarisilya was speaking just as mechanically again as to Arwen at her departure, as she noticed herself. Neither the pain on Thondrar's face, from knowing that he wouldn't be able to stop her, nor the ice-cold water she splashed on her arms and legs to not be entirely unprepared for what was to come, elicited even the smallest stir from her.

She had let people keep her from things important to her in her life often enough. In the last few hours, she had sworn to herself that she would never allow that again when it came to someone she loved. It was time she stopped being untrue to herself.

"Do you maybe think, with your injury _you_ would be faster? I saw what wargs did to my brother when he was careless for a single moment. All that would be left there to do for you was watching this bastard tear me to pieces while you were bleeding out." Shaking off Thondrar's hand, she got rid of the rest of the metal on her body.

"You, I will need if I _won't_ make it." She invitingly reached out her hand to the arrows Thondrar was wearing under his cloak.

First, he seemed as if he just didn't want to give them to her. When the moonlight had his shoulder-length hair, untidy from the climb, shine in a golden tone that seemingly only the light of stars could really bring out – hence that notorious quirk of wearing a hood, apparently –, his eyes closed under the burden of his conflict. And Tarisilya was suddenly hit with a realization that she had basically had in her first long conversation with Thondrar last fall already.

A conclusion that everyone should actually come to who had ever stood by the side of Thondrar's father, no matter if it was in battle or, in Tarisilya's case, in the course of a decision that a few hundred years ago had almost led her astray from the path that had made her become Legolas' wife in the end. There were far more similarities than this conspicuous hair color.

Deep sadness filled her when she understood the kind of problems this elf must really be dealing with. "If he was here now, he would be proud of you, I'm sure. Especially because you are able to make difficult decisions, too." She put her hand on Thondrar's shoulder for a long moment.

"I'm starting to hope that, yes," he answered quietly, with his eyes still closed. "When I found ada, after millennia of loneliness, my hate for him knew no limit. There was little I didn't blame him for before we at least started to build a somewhat normal relationship. We're still quite distant. But back then, he told me something that later accompanied me through my training with him as well, something I never quite understood. _The only_ _true strength is being able to let go._ Maybe it's time to learn that lesson. For him and for me."

He squeezed Tarisilya's hand quickly. "Do your best, milady. Don't make me grieve at the grave of those I should have protected."

"You won't." She took the arrows from him and stored them under the back of her tunic. "Give me cover."

Tarisilya waited for Thondrar to signal her that the warg was on the other side of the plateau once more, then she hoisted herself up over the ledge and let herself sink into the river.

The coldness had her shake before she had even dived all the way to the bottom and tried to paralyze her so badly for a moment that the current would almost have floated her down the mountain immediately. An instinctive swim stroke just barely saved her from that fate. In spite of the stinging sensation of needles all over her body, she headed for the destination. Underwater, she could hardly see anything more of it except the waterfall's blurred bubbling on the surface. The very real possibility that she could be stopped anytime by a paw being buried in her back that was so unprotected now, had her tremble even harder.

But only when the shape of the cave drew closer, when her lungs were already protesting a lack of air and the heaviness in her limbs turned every movement into an adventure, a feral scream tore the silence, even more clearly audible down here. It hurt her ears so much that Tarisilya startled and was forced backward by the current again, right against a rock that dug painfully into her side. The loss of time exacted its toll. She held on to the stones and yanked her head up, fighting for air.

She was looking straight into a pair of blood red eyes approaching her at a maddening speed.


	8. Chapter 8

"Whatever you're doing: Stop it. Running across the room like that, you're only making my headache worse." Aragorn opened his eyes for a moment, arduously blinking to clear his blurred vision.

"If a headache is your worst problem right now, I'll be happy to help." Arwen just huffed; she had no intention of pausing.

Aragorn's condition grew rapidly worse, it was plain to see. Growing fever and tiredness had been repeatedly overwhelming him for a few minutes now. Whenever that happened and he threatened to slip away, Arwen could only grab his shoulder. He _had_ to stay awake or he might never wake up again, that much was for sure. Arwen still couldn't and didn't want to believe that there was no hope for him, but the signs spoke against her optimism. Though she had built the fire higher and put more of Aragorn's clothes on him, he was freezing miserably and speaking less and less.

By now, her attempts to cheer him up were acknowledged only with a pitying smile. "What are you looking for anyway? I told you, I don't have any healing utensils stored in here." Just like enjoying some wine for dinner, that was a habit that neither of them could have expected to turn into a grave mistake.

Aragorn reached out his hand to get Arwen to sit down next to him again, but she ignored him and started to take his bed apart. "What exactly are you doing?"

"The mattress lays so high that there's surely a padding with straw underneath." Arwen's short despair had turned to determination again when she spontaneously thought of something to hopefully save them. Tugging the blood-covered covers and the mattress aside, she pulled a few inches of an additional layer out that she could indeed feel the desired stiff stalks in. Tearing the seam open, she plucked a few handfuls of it free impatiently.

"Will you tell me what you're planning to do with the insides of my bed?"

"Wet straw produces dark smoke. Which will attract someone's attention at sunrise, at the latest. And elvish eyes will hopefully notice even earlier, given your advisor doesn't prefer to keep getting drunk in the city."

Arwen's skeptical glance had Arwen roll her eyes and point at the metal double doors that the fireplace could be closed with. "Until the straw has burned, we'll shut them, of course."

"Arwen … come here." Aragorn's voice suddenly sounded even quieter, rougher than it had already been. He didn't seem to think much of her idea.

"I won't just keep on sitting around!" Arwen took the still-half-full mug from the bedside table and filled a washing bowl. "Unlike you, I haven’t given up yet!"

Only when Aragorn regarded her and her hands with an even sadder smile, she realized that they were trembling, maybe like never before in her life and that she was spilling more of the precious fluid than decanting it. She slammed the mug down so harshly that the porcelain promptly got a small crack, staring down at the table with her lower lip trembling for a few seconds.

She barely made it to get to Aragorn before her legs didn't carry her anymore. She collapsed by his side with a dry sob, all control over her feelings gone for now.

Her partner didn't need to say it for her to know what was going on in his head. Whatever they would try … It became more and more unlikely that it would make a difference.

Once she had started, it was visibly hard for Arwen to keep on holding back her tears, no matter how often she rubbed her face, spreading the scattered drops of blood there even further, gasping for air, angry about her own weakness. "Estel, we _can't_ just sit here and wait …"

Aragorn pressed a tender kiss to her hair, focusing his senses on the warmth of her skin against his, a sensation missed far too often lately. At least it distracted him from his condition for a moment. With his eyes firmly closed, he caressed her silky-soft, black curls, her narrow back that was trembling almost imperceptibly again and again.

"We can only hope now even though it's hard. Keeping still and saving my strength gives me better chances than exhausting myself."

Arwen's hand clenched on his leg. She shook her head defiantly, looked up at him pleadingly, searching for anything in his tired expression, any reassurance of him as the healer between them, that he wouldn't be able to give to her. Not with the knowledge about this stuff in his veins. "Then tell _me_ what to do. The Stewardaides don't seem to be in the anteroom right now. If I'm being fast enough …"

"No, mîl nín. We have no idea where they are and how many of them are here. The risk is far too big. If they overpower you while you're busy trying to clear the way, it _will_ be over for me. You're already doing everything in your power. More than I could ever have asked of you." Aragorn rested his face against her shoulder when tears collected in his eyes as well. Despair was something he should save for the last phase of the poisoning when he would lose control over his body.

That Arwen would have to watch all that hurt him far more than his physical damage. His beloved shouldn't have to witness this nightmare.

But that, too, he wouldn't be able to change. Fretting about that already wouldn't change the situation. He got Arwen to shift away from him a bit, to look at him. "You're here with me. The Valar couldn't have sent me better support." The kiss he gave her made him forget the unbearable prickle under his skin at least for a few seconds.

He quickly noticed though that Arwen was trembling all over her body by now. The shock was growing continually deeper. "But you're right; of course we should try everything. Go ahead with the straw thing. Maybe someone will notice after all." At least that would give her something to cling to.

Now it was his beloved, shaking her head though. Putting an arm around his stomach, she pulled the blanket around his shoulders tighter. "No, you're right. That only wastes the little straw we have here. Later, when the day breaks." She audibly had a hard time dealing with the pain that her own realization caused in her heart. "Until then, I won't let go of you, Estel, ever."

"Thank you." That single hoarse word was all Aragorn could get out since he had to clench his teeth once more to keep himself from screaming out when pain passed through his side like fire. They were running out of time, and they both knew. Once more, he could only thank the powers up above for being blessed with such a strong person by his side who more than earned the new name, her grandmother Galadriel had given her in Imladris a little while ago. "Thank you, Nauriel."

Legolas had looked death in the eye more than once but never had it approached so creeping slowly. When you'd been handling a bow for millennia, you quickly perfected the virtue of patience. The art to gather strength and use it at the exact right point in time. When Legolas felt his knuckles tensing around the shaft of his last arrow on their own once more, ready to just let go, he knew that his nerves were about to give in at last. At some point, the voice of reason would become too quiet to hear it still. The water would divert the shot, slow it down, and all the warg would have to do was jump him. Given how exhausted his body was by now, he wasn't delusional enough to think, he'd be quick enough with a last short knife on his belt then.

The warg wouldn't waste too much time with him. He had without a doubt long heard the crying of a being whose tender, unspoiled flesh had to pose an even bigger temptation for a cruel hunter like this than immediately wiping out an old enemy. That would come later. First, he would turn to Tauriel and her baby.

The terrifying image kept on showing up before Legolas' inner eye, almost like a vision. Trying to make it stop was just as useless as denying the appeal of acting when the warg was so close to the waterfall that he almost thought to be able to feel his breath.

Tauriel had become very quiet. The missing care after childbirth had left her battered. Only from time to time, she talked to her baby who was screaming almost ceaselessly now, until it had no voice left and just whimpered away. The far too cold water making this cave such an unpleasant place was hurting the child more than it helped; it couldn't even keep it down.

Legolas didn't need to have received healer training like Tarisilya to know that his two charges were slipping away from him with each passing minute more.

"You can't take this much longer, Legolas."

He startled when Tauriel suddenly spoke up, a movement that triggered pain in his overused muscles, just like every other stir by now, no matter how small. "I have to."

"If your hands are trembling too much, that won't do us any good. We could switch spots." Tauriel fought to get to her feet. Deep circles were under her eyes that were red from crying, a sight just as rare as painful. "I was never as good as you with a bow but as long as he doesn't attack …"

"He will if I leave. That's the only reason he hasn't tried so far." Hate colored Legolas' voice, and in this night of death, he didn't have the strength to keep this destructive emotion at bay anymore. "He knows my scent. When we last met, he hasn't dragged his leg behind yet. That was my dagger. He'll be waiting only as long as he knows, he has a worthy opponent in front of him."

Tauriel just sighed, absently caressing her baby's delicate body laying against her chest. "Arod is dying."

"I know." Legolas closed his eyes for a moment to keep tears from blurring his sight. He'd long noticed that his horse's breathing became slower and slower, that it was hardly moving anymore.

Tauriel was too weak to help him; besides, her own health and her child's took priority.

"He followed me, a complete stranger, for so long, and now I can't even bring him home. Arod was never mine. King Éomer has always only ever seen him as a loan to the Fellowship. I meant to give him back to his owners at my next visit to Rohan. He deserves life in peace after everything that he's had to witness." Legolas' hand clenched harder around the wood of his bow, slippery from moisture and coldness. The pain in his arm was actually feeling good right now.

"He's still fighting. He's tough." Tauriel rested her hand on his until he relaxed it.

"But I better stay here now. The baby … I don't know how that's even possible, but she's feeling it. If her crying makes her lose even more strength …" Her voice trembled too much to keep on talking.

"She has more energy than the two of us combined." It could have sounded encouraging if Legolas had been able to stand the sight of the half-unconscious being on Tauriel's arm for longer than two seconds. And there was no use, trying to hide it. Tauriel knew exactly that it wasn't just because of the warg that he was turning away again.

She scooted closer to him so he could see her compassionate expression at least from the corner of his eyes. "I know that you wanted to keep it a secret what has happened to your wife in Rohan, but I already told you: You're talking in your sleep. And Men do talk about things that are moving them, even if you ask them not to. The King of Rohan and his soldiers were grieving with you."

Legolas wanted to ask Tauriel to cut it out before he could get carried away, but the memories filling his mind paralyzed his tongue. For months, he had managed to suppress what had happened last year, even the fact that Tarisilya was completely alone with her pain, at her own request. A few words were enough to bring back all the desperation.

Just like every look at the newborn that brought up the question of how _his_ child would have looked. If it would have had the same fuzz of hair, such beautiful eyes, a face that so much was being written in already. Would it have looked more like Tarisilya or him? He might never learn any of that unless the Valar would be foolish enough to entrust them with this baby again at some point.

"Tauriel, please …"

She interrupted him, firmly grabbing his hand. "You do not wish to talk about it. We all have to accept that, no matter how much we want to help. Maybe none can. Right now, no one can understand better than me how cruel it is to lose a child. I just wanted to …" At a loss for words, she sobbed softly, pressing her baby close to her chest once more as if her nearness would suffice to replace everything it was missing.

It helped at least for a few seconds; the little one stopped wailing and nuzzled closer to her.

"I just wanted to tell you that it's never too late for anything, Legolas. That's a lesson I only learned myself when I moved to Imladris. No matter how much grief you're feeling right now, you will give the child that the Valar will bless you with one day at least as much love. Believe me, I have to know."

"So far, I have done nothing to earn the hope for such a gift." Once more, Legolas shook off her hand. Tauriel meant well of course, but it was exactly words like these that he couldn't bear. Words that he should have told Tarisilya instead of leaving her alone in Minas Tirith for months. Was there _anything_ he had ever been doing right in their relationship?

"That's not my decision, and even if it was: Things are … not so easy for me anymore."

He stopped himself just in time before he could possibly reveal his deepest fears and his problems to a she-elf that, unfortunately, he'd become very estranged from in the last few decades. Fears that, thanks to the barriers in his mind, he didn't even admit to himself most of the time, and that certainly weren't anyone else's business. If Tarisilya would feel the wish for closeness again at some point, once she was done justifiably blaming him for never being there for her … Well, enough time would have passed until then to ban a few unloved voices from his dreams again. Just like he'd managed to in the short time after their wedding. And this time, hopefully, it would be forever.

Only Tauriel's glance at the big scar on his shoulder had Legolas realize that he was apparently talking in his sleep more often than he'd feared. Until now, he hadn't minded that they'd had to turn most of his clothes into rags, but now he wished he would have kept at least his tunic on. Tauriel knew exactly what this was about, although except for Mithrandir, Aragorn, Gimli, and Tarisilya, actually, _no one_ could.

What had happened at Helm's Deep after the battle had been his own fault. That was nothing, anyone had to burden themselves with. Least of all a new mother who was thinking far too much about someone who had failed completely and utterly since the war. "Please don’t look at me like that."

"Well, no one else seems to do." Resigning, she complied.

"If so much silence had prevailed between my husband and me, we still wouldn't have got married two thousand years from now. Do you think, she-elves are made of glass, just because most of us go to battle in wars at most? And here I thought I had already got that nonsense out of your head when we were elflings and I tossed you into that mud pit for the first time. How little warmth must your father really have given you in your life if you can't even talk to your own wife about your nightmares?" She sounded angrier by the word, her pale cheeks suddenly were a healthier shade. "You think there is anything you can tell the Princess that she doesn't already suspect? To heal a sickness, one has to learn about it first. Think about that if we do escape this nightmare."

Drained once more already from her speech, she let her head sink against the rock but startled up immediately, just like Legolas, when their enemy's massive shape headed towards them with a loud scream.

" _Get back_!" In split seconds, everything was gone, Tauriel's words that had caused him so many tears in the last few minutes, the coldness in Legolas' soul from understanding that it was only him who he had chosen his loneliness, and the unbridled fear of never getting back to the she-elf he loved more than anything, at least not in these realms.

Now, this fear had turned into real danger, into tension in his body that rendered even the pain unimportant when he adjusted his arrow, ready to finally let go of it.

Tauriel grabbed his wrist tightly. "Wait!"

When Legolas leaned forward a little, past the little ledge that had at least given him the vague feeling of having some kind of cover in the last few hours, he, too, spotted another, an upright silhouette outside. He almost dropped his arrow as his subconsciousness wanted to fool him with a completely nonsensical image.

No, never. There was no way that this was Tarisilya. Against all odds, somebody had just found this cave and its guard with it. Somebody with a similarly tall, very delicate build, Erestor maybe, or a very slender soldier.

Before Legolas could decide if he should either shoot anyway or rather hope that the reinforcements were better equipped than he was, Tauriel pushed past him, her baby hidden under her cloak. She obviously wasn't ready to wait.

He was awfully tempted to yank her back and scream at her for her carelessness. The part of him that had just spent the longest time of waiting of his life, just like Tauriel had, was stronger. Even an armed, well-trained elf could be overwhelmed by an enemy that size when the odds were so bad. If the warg was being distracted, that would be the best, maybe the only chance to kill him.

"Stay here." For the first time since their arrival, Legolas got up from a rock he never even wanted to get close to again. Only the sudden energy that the fight was granting him prevented him from collapsing immediately. Still bracing himself against the cave entrance for a moment, he pushed through the waterfall, with his weapon raised high.

At first, the warg didn't notice him though. He was standing before his new victim, blocking their way to the cave, shifting his weight from paw to paw but not moving to jump.

The shine of the full moon fell on the warrior who was facing the warg, apparently without considering consequences, with nothing but a short, slightly curved blade. It was this blade flashing in the light that had Legolas realize what he'd just turned a blind eye to, what he'd even ignored in the tender mental connection he shared with this she-elf. When the alleged warrior lowered their dagger a little, it was no surprise, seeing Tarisilya's face. A face radiating relief when she laid eyes on him.

When he had given her this damn dagger, he should have known that she would be doing this at some point. But why now of all times?

The warg looked back over his shoulder as well, uttering another scream when he saw himself confronted with two weapons now. He jumped back and forth along the few feet between them, staring at them in turn, almost at the same time.

"Why is he not doing anything?" Tauriel hissed. She had followed Legolas just enough to be able to see anything and kept behind him, but she noticed at once the great danger Tarisilya was being in.

"He knows the elvish blade," Legolas replied, nearly insane with fear for his wife.

He could have taken the shot, sure. One more arrow in this beast's thick flesh that wouldn't make any more difference than the ones before had, if he didn't hit the right spot. The warg knew exactly how to dodge in a way that saved him from getting mortally wounded by now. And Legolas' speed and strength had suffered so much in the last few days that he could hardly stand, not to mention be certain that he wouldn't miss entirely.

Just a few seconds had passed when a second, much longer, straight blade cornered the warg from a third side.

Legolas didn't know whether to be happy about a legendary warrior like Thondrar showing up or terrified because the other elf was visibly limping.

The warg let out a quiet laugh. He took one step towards Thondrar but saw the sword then and retreated, towards the plateau's edge that became his only place to back away. But he didn't run. Now the creature was ready at last to sacrifice everything; that was how angry the elves who had killed his whole pack made him.

Legolas was not ready to expose Tarisilya to this danger for even another second. Thondrar always knew what he was doing; he would be fine on his own for a couple of moments. What he'd been thinking, bringing his Lady along on such a suicide mission, that they could talk about in detail later.

At the same moment when Legolas called Tarisilya, Thondrar jumped forward unexpectedly, straight at the warg who, in his surprise, could barely dodge. " _Go_!"

No matter if it was the domineering tone or Legolas' inviting glance: Tarisilya didn't hesitate to start running. They were all aware of the risk of how much predators loved to pounce on victims who turned their back to them.

But Thondrar was known as one of the best fighters of Imladris for a reason. His sword pierced the warg's side deeply before the animal could pursue after Tarisilya.

Not a deadly wound, the angle was too bad for that; but it sufficed to make it possible for the she-elf to fall into Legolas' arms, more stumbling back inside the cave together with him than walking.

Only when her trembling body was firmly pressing into his and her warmth chased away the last days' coldness in spite of her soaked clothes, Legolas really understood what had just happened there. With helpless panic, his left hand clenched down on her upper arm so firmly that she would probably find an unwanted bruise there the next day, while his right one reached out already for the arrows that Tarisilya was, to his relief, pulling out from under her clothes. " _Never do that again_!"

Instead of startling back, Tarisilya raised her chin a little and looked firmly into his eyes while starting to wipe the arrows on a last dry cloth that Tauriel quick-wittedly gave to her so the wetness wouldn't completely mess up the next shots.

In spite of her tears, she looked more determined than ever. She finally looked again like she had when Legolas had fallen in love with her a thousand years ago. It was entirely impossible to be angry with her, no matter how hard her next words hit him. "I can't promise you that. I will no longer leave it to others to decide our fate. Now, will you kindly shoot that creature out there before it eats your advisor? Or are you planning to sneak Erestor in past me as a replacement?"

"And listen to you two fighting every day? Give me those arrows." Somehow, Legolas managed to swallow the last of his fear, joining Tarisilya's teasing, which in the light of ongoing danger couldn't quite lighten the mood though. At least the missiles were now somewhat usable again.

"You two stay here." Not waiting to check if the she-elves were listening to him, Legolas hurried back outside. Bit by bit, the muscles of his legs started to remember how to move properly.

Just in time. His injury made it very difficult for Thondrar to stand his ground against the animal. And it had of course found his weak spot immediately; right at that very moment, its paw struck the elf's leg so brutally that he was thrown backward, leaving a long trail of blood on the ground. The pain brought Thondrar to his knees. Now he had to push the warg away with the pure strength of his arm to not get too close to the wide-open mouth while he tried in vain to free his sword arm that was buried under one of the animal's heavy legs.

No time left to consider which spot was the right one to try and hit, to stop the creature at once. How the warg could still be alive at all, was a mystery.

At the spots marred by arrow wounds already, the fur was sticking out from infection. Blood from the wound on his side stained the ground and his victim.

On top of that, Thondrar managed to turn his arm enough so that his sword tip slowly cut the animal's belly from the bottom up. Now there was not only blood but also first traces of organs oozing out of it. It could only be a matter of moments before the warg would collapse lifelessly, and still his teeth kept on threatening his victim.

Legolas hastily nocked an arrow and fired.

And missed his target. Far too high.

A terror befell him that he should actually have been feeling for a few months already. He ignored it arduously, no matter how heavily it tried to weigh down on him, nocking a second time by automatism alone. This time, he could make the shot, fortunately. With what had just dawned on him there, he better not took that for granted at all.

The arrow pierced the animal's eye, deeply penetrating its head. A last scream had Legolas' blood freeze. Even while dying, falling, collapsing, the warg clamped his jaw shut.

And it was Legolas' fault, just like almost everything happening in the last few days had been his fault. His first attempt should have taken the beast out. Instead, he had ignored how many off-target shots he'd been making lately, putting that on the wargs' speed.

But his enemies hadn't grown stronger. He had been getting worse and hadn't even noticed.

That failure might just have cost one of the best warriors of Middle-earth his life.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for a couple of new kudos, guys. Drop me a comment from time to time and let me know what you think? We are just getting to the really good parts here, and I'm excited.

Given the legendary friendship between an elf and a dwarf that had developed in the war, the sight of members of two folks sharing a table who had used to refuse even coming closer to each other than a few feet, wasn't as unusual as before. Even in one of Minas Tirith's most rundown venues, no one had more than a raised eyebrow to spare for the image before going back to beer, wine and song. Especially when there was enough of all three since the Dwarf in the round was generously providing refills. Such could easily make one forget prejudice and anger on certain beings and instead strike up cheerful songs about the friendship between the free folks. At least, if you weren't too drunk for it yet.

"Someday, these people will make _you_ King," Erestor remarked when one of the newly arrived guests broke into enthusiastic rumbling once again.

"One has to maintain good relationships, that's all," Gimli announced regally, before emptying his eight mug of beer with a few sips and waving at the very revealingly dressed waitress so that she would bring him a new one.

"Men in Minas Tirith are wonderful, just wonderful!" he shouted louder, earning cheers of approval. "They have strong hands and know how to relax on a hard day's night!"

One of his new friends promptly chanted a few more lines, quite off key thanks to his deep intoxication, but with all the more ardor; and the others quickly joined. It was a traditional Dwarvish song.

After listening to the melody for a moment, Erestor unceremoniously reached for the flute he had wisely brought and joined the performance. After all, he wasn't here to have fun, and Secondborn were easiest persuaded to talk when you adapted to their habits.

_screaming as the crumbling mountain_

_yet my ears will not hear_

_too many words by too sweet a voice_

_and not a thing said right_

_punched and breached and cut_

_still all their blows will only hit them_

_stumbling on my knees, still going strong_

_heart of mithril, born to win_

_come if you dare, come_

_shoot those arrows, hear them slip_

_come if you dare, come_

_take my land and take my gold_

_never will you have me_

_heart of mithril, born to win_

_come if you dare, come_

_forged by rock, led by gold_

_never turn your back to me_

_heart of mithril_

"You have the mob in the palm of your hand."

Erestor tried to remember in vain how he had actually ended up in of a group of drunkards, with a dwarf by his side who never got tired of talking about his adventures with the Fellowship. Walking down the streets, at some point, he'd spotted Gimli having a conversation with a few workers. He remembered because he had been surprised, actually thinking the Lord of the Glittering Caves to be with his people in Rohan right now. He'd meant to update him on current events immediately, especially regarding the disappearance of Gimli's old friend from Eryn Lasgalen, but there had always been someone with them which would have been counterproductive regarding the intended secrecy when it came to the Stewardaides. And somehow, after the third beer, that plan had been abandoned.

"Men have primitive customs," he murmured, reaching for the fourth mug. Just another of those habits that you had to adapt to, of course, to not attract any attention.

"Tell me, Master Elf …" Gimli slapped Erestor's shoulder so firmly that he'd probably have slipped from the comfortable seating area that they'd claimed for themselves, if several passed out drunks hadn't occupied the floor. "What is that the leader of the elvish workers doing out on the streets at this hour anyway? Are there too few she-elves in Gondor you could court when you aren't needed for once?"

"She-elves I've been interested in so far were deceitful beings who never knew what they wanted. And the only elf I'm into has even more issues than I do." Had he actually just said that out loud? He probably had, given how curiously the others at the table were suddenly eying him. Erestor quickly hid behind his mug but found it empty again already.

Before he could call for a new one, one of the workers pushed one his way already. "Drink, drink, Master Elf! That's only way to suffer that thing called love," he slurred compassionately. "We do everything for those we lose our hearts to, and what do we get back?"

"Nothing," Erestor murmured, dazed. "Nothing at all. Instead, they send you away."

"To turn to someone else instead?" Gimli asked extremely interested, as interested as one could be once they started talking to their beer mug.

"Doubtful. The only one, except for me, who was ever able to put up with that elf, is long dead. At least in these realms. I'm beginning to wonder if she wasn't the one between us with the right idea." Actually, Erestor meant to push his mug away noisily, but somehow, his movements weren't as controlled as usual; the vessel was knocked over and what little was left of its contents spread on the table.

"Hey, careful!" one of the man shouted in protest.

"Best goods from our fields! You don't waste that! Sweetheart, another beer for our elf here!"

Erestor tried to say no, but his words were drowned out by loud laughter and a new song.

"Why didn't you warn me?" He turned to Gimli indignantly who eyed him with a very satisfied grin.

"But I did." Gimli innocently twirled his long red beard. "I told you, Men are cheerful. Your kinsman, in any case, has done well for himself in Rohan back then. An elf outdrinking a dwarf, unbelievable! A thing unheard of!" The memory of that disgrace back then had him slap his hand flat on the table. "You do want to defend your people's honor, right?"

"Not every elf likes to cloud their senses regularly with wine, like that spoilt King's brat from Eryn Lasgalen. Most of us are civilized."

Erestor startled, barely noticeably, when an admittedly deserved blow hit his shin under the table, from an ax handle. Judging by his underdeveloped sense of pain, that would result in more than one bruise. Fine, yes, that had not been exactly tactful, especially given Gimli's continued ignorance of the attack at Cair Andros. If there wasn’t any news by morning, the two of them should probably better check the situation there out themselves again. While it was conspicuous that it was always _he_ who had to put out the bushfires that the King or the oh so beloved younger version of him used to light ... In this case, Erestor himself was not entirely innocent regarding the Prince touching something too hot for him once more, and he usually preferred to pay off his debts straight away. For that, he needed a clear head.

There were certain challenges you didn't cop out anyway, of course. And although his assignment in this foreign realm back then had mainly resulted in frustration and resignation, because this messed up family needed more than a librarian with good intentions to find back to some order: In his own time Eryn Lasgalen at the beginning of this Age, he had at least learned how to hold his liquor, if need be.

"Give me that." Grumbling, Erestor took the next mug that the waitress reached out to him with a saucy smile, bending a little too deeply over the table. "Primitive customs, as I said."

"I'll drink to that." Gimli raised his mug.

"Is there anything you don't drink to?"

"Don't get cheeky with me, Erestor. I still could throw you down with my left hand." Gimli didn't even realize that he was starting to forget the formal form of address. "Want to give it a try?"

"Elves do not fight for such trivial reasons." That Erestor also highly doubted he was still able to remember where he actually had his dagger when it came to it, he rather didn't mention. Maybe this whole misery in Minas Tirith could really only be drowned in alcohol. He should propose the method to Lord Elrond when next the Lord locked himself up in his – _his_! – library to silence his worries.

"No, elves prefer to run away," a voice from a little further away mentioned without the smallest reproach in it. It was a dry assessment that earned applause from several corners.

"Present company excluded, Master Elf." The man next to Erestor slapped his shoulder tightly as well so that he almost would have dropped to the floor a second time. "After all, you're lending a hand wherever we need you. That's probably why you're here, isn't it? The elves don't want you anymore because you know how to work."

Now Erestor got to learn something about the mood in the city after all, which actually, was exactly why he had come here. It was nothing that he would have wanted to hear, though it was still better than words against the King.

That was of course no reason to allow such a misjudgment anyway. And after the little verbal slip-up, that gave him a chance to make it clear to Gimli that he did absolutely respect what his fellow elves were doing here in Gondor, even though he did not agree with the basic idea of the settlement.

With his hands on his hips, he got up and tried to sound as authoritarian as possible. "The elves in Ithilien cleaned your water and your fields! Without them, you would be starving and dying of thirst!"

"Is that so? See, _I_ heard," another guy shouted, a soldier as could the dark blue underclothing that was being worn under armor in Gondor showed, "that the rivers are dirtier than ever! Our people in the Citadel have been sick all day already! Apparently, the King doesn’t think it necessary to properly care for his army!"

Now Gimli seemed to want to protest as well, but then he looked up in bafflement because Erestor was pushing past him, towards said soldier, to ask him the only question that still mattered after what he'd just heard.

Already being on his way outside, Erestor heard Gimli hastily said good-bye to the men. Hopefully, the dwarf was busy getting sober just as quickly as he had.

"Get going, Gimli! Bill's all on the King's House!" he shouted at him sharply when Gimli stopped next to the waitress next and actually wanted to _pay_.

"I'm coming." Muttering under his breath, the dwarf rushed to him, shouldering his ax. "If you hadn't ogled her, she wouldn't have asked me how she can see you again."

" _Men_." Erestor let out a last unbelieving snort. "Can you go _any_ faster?"

"Not everyone has legs as long as an elf's." Gimli hurried to keep up with him. "What's going on anyway?"

"I don't know, my Dwarvish friend." Erestor upped his speed again and mentally prepared for another unfriendly ax thrust once he'd have told his companion, so very late, what had happened in North Ithilien. "All I know is that after Beregond reported trouble at Cair Andros, the King has sent his best men there. And now one of those left say that the rest of them hasn't been feeling well all day. Enough reason to take a look."

To Erestor's relief, Gimli did not insist on going the other way after he'd briefly explained everything to him, even if it was obviously difficult for him. All emotion aside, a lot of helpers had already been sent out to look after the elves. The royal couple was on their own.

"Nothing's going to happen to the Aragorn. He's made it through the war without a single scratch already." That didn't sound fully convinced though. The two of them had spent enough time in the streets of Minas Tirith lately, and knew that the way to the Citadel was long when every second counted.

"Do you think he'll make it, Your Highness?" Once Legolas had left, Tauriel looked at Tarisilya pleadingly.

"He'll have to." Tarisilya had already lost her emotionality from the short conversation with her husband again and turned her attention to her patients almost by force. In the fight against the warg, she couldn't be of any help anymore now; she would have needed a real weapon for that. And even if she had one – she hadn't missed the fear in Legolas' eyes earlier.

It wasn't just hurt pride or a sense of responsibility towards Tarisilya's family that had shaped his opinion in this regard, and not the worry for her healer abilities either, no matter how justified that was. He simply couldn't have taken it, losing her to violence. Even if they would have met again in the west one day: Everything that they had tried to build here for their last time in these realms would have been irretrievably lost then. By dying, Tarisilya would have robbed Legolas of a good-bye from this world, one way or another, that he needed more than ever now.

If it wasn't absolutely necessary, she wouldn't risk that anymore, no matter how much she wanted to help him in every conflict with every fiber of her heart. She had other duties on Middle-earth that were important, too.

Carefully, she pulled back Tauriel's cloak under which the she-elf still held her child frantically close to her body, as if the warg would be right here in this room with them. "I'll take her. You go wash out the wounds on your back before they become even more infected."

"How do you know …?" Tauriel frowned in confusion. Then her expression darkened as she realized how much Tarisilya had been suffering since her disappearance. "You found the cloak, didn't you, Princess? I noticed, I lost it somewhere on the way, but I didn't think someone else would."

"Hurry." Tarisilya sat down next to Arod with the baby to examine both of them as well as possible.

Arod bristled when he recognized her voice and nosed her weakly.

"Not today, as much as I'd love to." She quickly caressed his head. It was questionable that Arod would make it to the city in this condition, and even if he did, that it would happen in time. And here, she couldn't do anything for him, no matter how hard that would hit Legolas. The little life on her arm needed her.

The baby felt instinctively that it had been torn away from its mother and voiced its lack of enthusiasm for that.

"Better give her to me. She's been crying enough." Tauriel immediately came to stand next to Tarisilya again and took the child back, her arms trembling. "I'm fine," she assured at Tarisilya's critical glance at her back.

"You're not, but you'll pull through until we reach the city. Lord Elrond taught you the art of healing just as well as my father once taught me." Tarisilya caressed the baby's forehead as it was chortling away. "If she keeps on fighting like that, nothing will happen to her either."

Tauriel started to ask something but then didn't dare to after all, especially not given Tarisilya's tense expression that revealed already, the answer wouldn't be satisfying.

She tried to distract herself from the fear for her husband by guiding Tarisilya's hand to the child's chest so she could feel its heartbeat. "I've waited for that for a whole year. I won't let anyone take this bliss away from me now, no matter if it's some misguided men or wild animals."

Tarisilya gently pulled away because another outburst was the last thing she could afford right now and put a comforting hand on Tauriel's shoulder for a moment. "Wait here."

Grabbing the dagger that she had faced the warg with, she walked towards the exit. The noise outside had stopped; that could actually only mean one thing. Still, she wanted to be careful, after all she'd just promised herself that. A disquieting feeling haunted her although he fight was evidently over. Something wasn't right here.

The sight of Legolas staring at the warg's corpse, his face snow-white, and of an arrow stuck in the ground a few feet away, confirmed what she'd actually known already, collecting all those missiles with Thondrar earlier. "Look at me!" She took Legolas' face firmly between her hands to wake him up before somebody might perish who had grown very dear to her heart a few months ago, and even more tonight. "I need you know. Thondrar risked his life for us. We'll talk later."

The admonishment helped. They would have to deal with what had happened another time. As with so many things. Legolas took just another split second to give Tarisilya a kiss, a gesture of gratitude and reassurance about him not being angry with her for leaving Minas Tirith; then they both started to run.

Getting closer, Tarisilya thanked her instincts for reacting just right.

Contrary to Legolas' understandable first assumption, Thondrar was indeed still alive. With half of the warg lying on top of him, they both hadn't managed to make it out right away, but the warrior was breathing, albeit weakly.

While one could handle the weight of a warg that size, Tarisilya would stand no chance of getting her protector out from under there alone.

She vigorously suppressed the memory of a patient from some time ago that she hadn't been able to save because he had been trapped under his horse. Thinking of this day right now, and about what wouldn't have been able to happen in the first place if she hadn't tried to help this man, was a _very_ bad idea.

Only belatedly but just in time, she saw that Thondrar's right arm was caught in the warg's mouth almost up to the shoulder. "Wait!" She stopped Legolas when he wanted to try and push the corpse aside.

"I need my bag. Down by the horses."

Nodding silently, he took the shortest road, right through the creek bed.

"You never give up, milady, do you?" When Tarisilya eyed the fatal injury, Thondrar opened his eyes and smiled at her distortedly. Again and again, his body spasmed under the weight pressing down on it.

A look at his arm had his face lose color. He had to be aware of how little hope there was for it, even if Tarisilya would manage to save his life. "Not quite a balrog, is it?"

"He wished he'd been one, I bet." Understanding that he was trying to cheer her up, Tarisilya forced a laugh, resting her hand on his cheek. "Maybe the days of such unrivaled heroic deeds of the Elves are over. But that does not make your fight any less dauntless. You have saved us. Thank you."

"The least I could do for my Lady." With some effort, he turned his head aside so he didn't have to see the injury anymore. "Will you do me a favor?"

She sensed immediately what would come next. "No, Thondrar … please …"

"I never understood it." He didn't heed her interruption, maybe he hadn't even heard it.

"Not even when ada and I tried to make up. There always was this last dart of rage in my heart that makes it impossible for us until today, to stay in each other's presence for long. But now I know why he sent nana and me away back then. I saw it in your eyes, and in your husband when we both thought you would die for a moment. You two can live with this fear. Ada couldn't. In spite of all the endless courage defining his life, this one fear he could never face. Tell him …" His voice broke off, his eyes fell closed, but he still got it out. "Tell him I'm not angry with him anymore."

With a short kiss to his forehead, Tarisilya kept him from giving in to unconsciousness, helping him to look up once more so she could get it through to him that she would not allow this good-bye to be the last one in these realms. "You can do that yourself when you see him next."

She wasn't entirely sure, but she could have sworn, he returned her smile for a tiny moment before the blackness took him at last.

The relief that the crisis was over shouldn't last for long. By the time Tarisilya was done stabilizing her patient and once Legolas had brought him and Tauriel to the horses, with considerable effort, she was certain that the ride home would happen without her husband.

Legolas' thoughts were everywhere but in Minas Tirith. When he prepared to climb up to the cave for a last time to see if Arod was doing a little better after having a small meal made from Thondrar's and Tarisilya's provisions, she knew he did it mostly because he was pondering about the fastest way for him to push further into North Ithilien.

And that although not even all of their problems had been solved yet. There was no way, Tarisilya thought herself capable of risking the return journey without a trained companion, regardless of all the wargs being dead or not. She didn't even know if she would have enough strength to take an unconscious patient with her on a horse as restless as Brego.

She blocked Legolas' way. "I followed you as far as I could. Now I need _you_."

"I know." His eyes anxiously wandered back and forth between the horses that were yearning to go home and the other direction where responsibilities just as grave were waiting.

"We don't know what's going on with them." She stepped closer to him to rest her forehead against his as if her nearness alone could change his mind. She tried to speak quietly though by now, she had of course had to tell Tauriel, too, what she know about the events regarding the Stewardaides and Faramir's group, and the other she-elf was surely having her own thoughts about that already.

"Maybe they're long on their way to the city. They have a strong leader with them."

"But not _their_ leader." Legolas backed away quickly. "The Stewardaides are completely unpredictable, Ilya. I saw the hate in their eyes when I fought them. They won't allow elves staying anywhere close to their base. Whatever has got into Prince Faramir for him to suddenly trust them, I can't entrust our people's lives to the goodwill of some insane men."

"But how do you plan to find them? How do you think you can _look_ for them? Arod doesn't even have enough strength to get up, not to mention take you anywhere!"

"I'll walk." Legolas avoided her eyes, as usual when he was forced into something that hurt Tarisilya but that he couldn't change. "I've just done enough sitting around. Exercise will do me better than waiting for elves I was supposed to take care of dying by the hands of some men."

"Even if you find the energy for this, Tauriel doesn't have it." Tarisilya wiped her eyes with her sleeve. She didn't want to cry, to be weak yet again. She wanted to hammer into Legolas what kind of madness it was that he was planning there. "I can't get three endangered patients home at once, elwen."

"Maybe you don't have to, Your Highness." Tauriel who had kept to the background until now, worriedly kneeling next to Thondrar, suddenly sounded surprisingly hopeful. "We have visitors."

Once they stopped trying very vocally to convince each other, Tarisilya and Legolas heard it as well: several armed horses in a fast gallop close by. With some delay, the soldiers that Aragorn had sent out, had found the right way after all.

Now they just needed to draw their attention to them. Not bothering to ask, Legolas took Tarisilya's healer bag from her and got out a small vial with alcohol that was usually being used for cleaning wounds. "Have you got anything on you that isn't wet?"

"Here." Tauriel took one of the cloths that she had covered her child with and wrapped it around the tip of an arrow that Legolas handed her.

"Let me. You should remember, I always beat you when it came to fire-starting." She gave her baby to Tarisilya and knelt down in front of an especially rough rock to try her luck.

They had to be fast or the riders would soon be too far from them again to see the signal, still Tarisilya got distracted for a moment when she felt Legolas' ocean blue eyes rest on her and the child. The same pain and yearning were written in them that she had felt when she had held the baby for the first time earlier. A patient like she had so many before, sure … But it was not a mannish child. This was a very delicate being with ears that were already showing the typical pointed shape. The epitome of last year's destroyed hopes of which at that moment, Legolas and she could finally leave a small part behind because they realized that they both still wanted this with all of their hearts, in spite of the mistakes they had made the first time. They both felt it, gifting each other with a shy smile that could mean so much and so little at the same time, taking a step towards each other.

A jet of flame next to them interrupted them, but it didn't matter. Something had changed. Now Tarisilya could wait another few hours for a clarifying conversation, too.

For long seconds, nothing happened after Legolas had shot the arrow, now surrounded by flames, up into the night sky. But then they heard the riders in the distance pause and finally turn their way.

Just a few minutes later, the small troop of warriors approached them. Clear relief was written in the men's faces. Tarisilya could also make out disapproval about her being here. The men fortunately bit back a comment or she would gladly have schooled them about punctuality in return.

The soldiers were equipped with better supplies than Tarisilya and Thondrar had brought on their horses, so Tauriel, at least, would hopefully be doing better soon. Tarisilya instructed the men on how they to handle the patients and sent the one away immediately who was taking Thondrar with him while waving a second one close who should take care of Tauriel.

And a third one who would have to share a horse with someone on the way back. They couldn't ask it of Alagas to deal with yet another new rider, not if Legolas was supposed to be as quick as possible.

"Go." Taking a deep breath, she turned to her husband. "Don't get any funny ideas about getting yourself killed after all. I doubt that anyone will borrow me some soldier's armor this time to come after you."

Legolas thanked her for her understanding with a hasty kiss, ignoring the soldiers' piqued glances, before he unsaddled and unbridled the animal handed to him in a flash. To Tarisilya's relief, he slipped on the most important parts of the armor that the warrior gave him as well without argument, so he at least didn't have to continue on his way half naked and completely unprotected.

Tauriel stepped up to him for a last moment. "Now I can stop fearing for my husband. I know you'll take care of him, like you took care of me."

"Get your child to safety." He returned her trustful words only by making too fleeting eye contact. Her encouragement could visibly not erase his self-reproaches.

Then Legolas vanished out into the night.


	10. Chapter 10

"How late is it?" Somehow, Aragorn brought himself to open his eyes when Arwen filled a cup with water and helped him drink as she had so often in the last few hours. His fever had become even higher, and his body urgently needed the fluids, but by now, he seemed to have difficulty swallowing.

Arwen held the cup to his cracked lips until he signaled her to take it away.

"The only way to find that out would be by pushing the cabinet aside and estimating it by the position of the moon. As long as there are possibly Stewardaides in the garden, we better don't do that. Once the sun comes up, that's at least a light we'll see through the gap." She knew why her partner had asked of course; she was yearning for an answer same as he. By the time, the Citadel would come to life, it might already be too late though.

"Try not to think about it. Or it will feel even more like we'd been sitting here for eternities."

"That's how much you dislike my company? Admit it, the only reason you're putting up with me by your side is the carefree court life." Aragorn tried to hide it with a grin that he was startling with pain once more, a smile that Arwen's pout made just grow broader.

"Idiot."

"Don't rob a man on the deathbed of his humor. My life was shaped by enough seriousness; at least its end shouldn't suffer from it."

Not even the furious sound on her lips had him lose his smile.

"I will very gladly repeat myself: _Idiot_! You are _not_ going to die today. I won't let you!" Arwen was aware, of course, how despaired she was sounding, that she must seem more defiant than honestly convinced.

"I'm afraid, fate won't ask you for your permission, mîl nín."

Since Aragorn's voice turned quieter by the word, his head falling against the wall, Arwen quickly rested a hand on his cheek, shaking him softly. She couldn't grab his shoulder anymore; albeit that being more effective, his reddened skin made it too painful for him at this point. "You have to stay awake, Estel."

"Easy to say when you're not the one feeling like Irmo found your spirit and tried to put it to rest by all available means." Aragorn shook his head a little to clear his senses and blinked away, straining to focus.

"You're going to have to tell me some stories to keep me awake." Suddenly his voice was dripping with bitterness. "Tell me how it was in Imladris in the war."

"In the war?" Arwen couldn't quite grasp what he was trying to do.

"Every day I spent with the Fellowship, I wanted to be with you. Every day I was both fearing and hoping that you would decide to leave these realms. I want to look back with you, at least in my mind. Be able to understand what made you choose _this_ way that has caused you nothing but sorrow and that will now end before we even had a chance to lead the life we've wished for so much. Together, with our own family …" His glance went past her as if the emptiness could offer a confirmation that Arwen had tried to give to him so often in vain: that she would never regret her decision for him.

"Estel …" Arwen helpless stared into his darkened eyes. "We _will_ have a family, you hear me? Stop talking like that! You have to hold on. Promise me you'll keep fighting!"

Aragorn tried to answer but another wave of agony had him startle and gasp for air. When Arwen grabbed his hand, tears in her eyes, he squeezed it tightly. "I shouldn't give you another promise, mîl nín. That I can't keep my last one is bad enough."

Since he was threatening to slip into unconsciousness again, Arwen got no chance to ask what he meant.

Worn down, Aragorn caressed Arwen's shoulder, the side not covered by her nightgown, as soon as he could at least make out shapes and colors again. Among them, the color of all the foreign blood on her pure skin, that had him shiver violently. This was not how he had pictured their time together to end. It had taken the certain knowledge that all he had left was a few hours first, for him to realize that he would soon lose more than his life.

While Arwen and he had, of course, enjoyed all of their meetings, they had never been free of burden. That they would soon have to part again had always weighed down on them, and then it had been Sauron's shadow hovering over them. When they had finally achieved their aim then, the victory of the Free Folks and her father's blessing … Suddenly, it had been as if they'd lost sight of what they had wanted so badly for so long. They had become so dead set on learning how to fulfill their new roles, how to heal these lands, that they had ignored the most important thing in both their lives.

"I'm so sorry, Arwen. I should never have postponed our wedding, not for a month, not for a day. You should long have lived by my side officially, the Stewardaides be damned. We've wasted _months_. And now that I finally know that, it's no longer possible for me to change it."

Arwen just stared at him in pain. Not even now was she blaming him for his mistakes. She was far too kindhearted for that and loved him far too much. "Stop it, Estel, please. You're confused, you need to rest."

Aragorn didn't let her break away. He cut her off by pulling her close with what little strength he still had in him and gave her a long, deep kiss.

"I do not know if there's a way that the Valar will grant me to make it out of this alive, after all that I did wrong. But if they do … Then we'll only wait long enough for me to be able to stand straight again. You are mine and I am yours, no matter how many people that might bother. And if my duty for my realm will indeed one day include me having to lay with another woman for one night, then we'll somehow make it through that together as well. If you still believe that, too, become my wife, Arwen. We hesitated long enough."

"Of course, mîl nín." Visibly blindsided by a proposal that technically wouldn't even have been necessary as, by elven standards, they had long given each other their eternal promise, Arwen nestled against Aragorn's uninjured shoulder, a suspicious glistening in her eyes.

Whatever it was that had still kept them from finally setting this last step in motion, it was suddenly miles away. People would get used to Arwen, they would simply have no choice. And at some point, Arwen would hopefully not feel that foreign at this court anymore.

And while the very painful choice that would possibly be the only one they had left, in case she couldn't give him a child, would not be going anywhere ... Arwen was obviously not ready anymore either to let a worry that might never become reality anyway, spoil their relationship. As long as they stuck together, they'd find some kind of solution.

"I'm looking forward to it. I love you so much …"

"And I love you. More than anything in this world." Though it cost him more and more effort, Aragorn made it to caress her arm with his trembling hand. Arwen deserved it that he gave her at least as much affection as his waning strength still allowed.

Once Arwen had her happiness under control, she straightened up, swallowing deeply when she saw the deep lines on Aragorn's haggard face, his clothes completely soaked with sweat, his stringy hair. "No more talk of death. It's not too late yet." She rested her hand on his chest, counting every of his too slow heartbeats. "As if you even ever had to ask. You know exactly that I would have taken you as my husband decades ago if we'd been allowed."

She quickly turned away from him, getting up to throw another few logs on the fire so that her beloved wouldn't have to see that in spite of her own resolute words, she was fighting tears once more.

When she looked at him again, she dropped the last piece of wood. " _Estel_!"

Her beloved did no longer sit straight against the wall but had slipped to the ground.

Arwen dropped down next to him again immediately and turned him on his back, pillowing his head on her lap.

No matter how vigorously she seized his arm and kept on talking to him, he didn't react anymore. His breathing had become as good as undetectable, and Arwen could hardly feel his pulse either.

"Estel, don't … You can't die now …" Whispering despaired words, Arwen bent over her beloved, kissing him tenderly again and again and caressing his hair. She had rarely felt so alone.

If Tarisilya could at least have stood by her right now, or if she would have taken time even once in these last few months, to show Arwen how one didn't just have to sit around inactively in such a situation … If Arwen had at least known the other she-elf to be close by … But the person who was currently probably the best healer in this realm wouldn't even be in the city when the two of them were being found. She was probably rather busy getting herself killed out there right now. The only being that could maybe still have helped Aragorn now, had left them alone.

Arwen hardly found a way to stop this unfair thought that only added to the wrath in her mind when she crossed her arms on Aragorn's chest, quietly crying away. She had never understood so well in her whole life how helpless one could really be.

While in a drunk head, it had hardly been more than mild suspicion about this whole thing, that feeling turned into real anxiety when Gimli and his new elvish friend reached the seventh level and were being welcomed not only by dead silence but also by two badly injured guards at the gate. The same images dominated their path to the King's House. Wherever there should actually soldiers have been standing, there was either no one around or the men were being unconscious, with a few of them being hurt and others not. As none of them seemed to have fought back, the soldier in the city seemed to have been right: Something was wrong with the water in the Citadel.

Shortly before reaching the stairs to the Tower, Erestor stopped Gimli. "There are three possible targets for hostiles here. Go see Lady Éowyn. Her room in the guesthouse is …"

"I know where things are around here. Stop talking so much. Go, I'll be right behind." Gimli ran off, not without dropping an unnerved " _Librarians_!".

Already approaching the spacious chambers that the Steward and his wife were always staying in when they were in the city, he found one of the unconscious guards in a badly hidden alcove.

Unlike many of his companions, the man seemed unharmed, just caught in a deep sleep.

Gimli hesitated; his eyes wandered back and forth between Éowyn's chambers and the direction where the King's House was located. Regardless of how big his friendship with the lovely Rohan maiden was, his bonds with Aragorn were even stronger. Everything in Gimli was yearning for helping his friend out of his obviously troubled situation and then find out what by Aulë was going on at Cair Andros.

So he stepped closer to the man who had sunk down, sitting on the ground, and hit him in the side with his battleax's handle.

The man grunted something unintelligible but didn't move beyond that.

Aulë, some men really _were_ weaklings with no spine. Shrugging, Gimli tapped the guard's helmet with the butt of his ax, producing a loud, rattling sound.

The man woke up and cursed, grabbing his forehead with a hiss. Now it wouldn't just be the sleeping draught that gave him a roaring headache, without a doubt.

Gimli decided to ignore the Westron cusses thrown in his face as he watched how the guard get up. He waited until he could be sure that he would be heard, then he quickly described the situation and shooed the still slightly dazed guy away before turning to get back himself.

The tiredness would fade away soon enough, now that the soldier knew about the possible attack. Gimli was sure that he would master his task well. As long as Éowyn would lock her door and the guard would prevent anyone from trying to enter the chambers, there would be no danger for the woman.

The same couldn't be said about two of his other friends though who might need him more than ever right now.

Every soldier that Erestor found knocked out along the way, solidified the certainty that he was coming too late. Everything happening in the last few days had just been a distraction. Now all he could do was contain the damage as well as possible.

There were some other chambers located close to the King's that had surely been a target of the attackers as well though, so Erestor had to interrupt his run for a moment, whether he wanted or not.

Gimli joined him just when he left the bedroom again, grunting in irritation when he saw Erestor's surprise. "I told one of you before: Dwarves are unmatched on short distances."

Without a doubt, he would have loved to talk some more about his people's qualities as sprinters but then he saw the dead Stewardaid and all the blood. Rage darkened his eyes; a growl escaped his throat.

"Lady Arwen is not here. She …" Erestor paused when Gimli unfastened the biggest ax from his belt and took one of his smaller throwing axes in his free hand.

"Of course not. If she was clever, she ran. The one down there should be grateful, she just stabbed him. Once my blades and I get to the rest of these damned bastards, they will wish for such an easy death!" Scolding, he stomped to the door. "Want to kill a she-elf, eh? Wait till I get my hands on even one of these cowards! Let them come! My ax is yearning for a fight! The Lord of the Glittering Caves of Aglarond will show them what it means to mess with a King and lay even one finger on a Dwarf's friend!"

Only a swift grip on his hair, still messy from the bender, had Gimli stop.

"Stop, turn around, think. No offense." Erestor quickly pulled his hand back.

"That body is already cold. If these people have already fulfilled their work, there's no use hurrying now. _If_ they are still here though and if we storm the King's chambers like this, we'll waste even the tiniest chance to step in. Nothing against your ax, Master Dwarf. It was already legendary in the war. But in this case, I would prefer it if we do it my way."

"Now I know why _you_ weren't sent with us on the journey to help the Ring-bearer: You would have tried to talk to every enemy first before attacking them." Gimli shook out his hair in offense but put his ax away, the small one at least. "If you insist, I'll wait until they've killed you and then do it _my_ way." He trotted outside with Erestor, still clenching his weapon's handle as if expecting to see an enemy come around a corner any moment.

And indeed, Erestor soon had to signal him to pause, frowning in confusion when he identified the noise nearby as a quiet whine. He knelt down next to one of the many stony benches mounted in the house under which he found a dog that was no stranger to him.

The dog crawled out from under it to rub himself against Gimli's legs whereupon he easily reached to his hips. The dog complained louder and louder, and Gimli tried in vain to silence him.

Sighing, Erestor caressed the animal's head which just had it yelp half a tone higher. "It's Lady Arwen's. Usually, he tries to bite me as soon as I approach her."

"Can't blame him." Erestor probably had that one coming; Gimli just couldn't bite it back. Erestor's scathing glance quickly had shut up though.

"And now? If he keeps that up, all of Minas Tirith will know that we're here."

"Did you hear that? It's the fleabag from earlier." Promptly, the voices of two men sounded at the end of the hall where the Aragorn's chambers were located. They were so close that Erestor had to pull Gimli through the next open door into a storeroom to protect them from being discovered.

"Great, even more attention. We could long be gone from here already if you finally got that damn door open. That bitch of a she-elf has to pay for what she did to the Butcher, but if we don't get out of here soon, the guards will do the same to us."

"Why don't you make firewood of that door with your sword? What do you think, how long will it take someone to hear _that_? That savage of Rohan who has the Steward wrapped around her finger is sleeping here somewhere. That woman already took out the Witch-king; we don't stand a chance against her. What are you even yapping about? Even if we don't get in there anytime soon: It will be hours before the next change of guards. By then, that pest in there will be long dead, and we can mix with the cheering folk. We'll take care of the elvish whore later."

"I'll rather take a look anyway. That mutt makes me nervous." Before they knew, steps were approaching.

Well, so much for inconspicuousness.

At least it wasn't too late yet; right now that was all that counted. Erestor would have to think about everything he'd done wrong that had only made the catastrophe that night possible in the first place, once they had – hopefully – prevented the worst just in time.

Gimli regarded the elf by his side with an exceptionally amused glance. Grabbing his throwing ax tightly once more, he broadened his stance. He waited until they could hear that the Stewardaid had passed them by, then he jumped out from their hideout as quietly as possible.

The man spun around and meant to call upon his mate for help but didn't get a chance to before a blade cut his head half off his shoulders.

A very brutal but necessary method. They couldn't have risked the other enemies being prematurely warned that they had been busted.

With one foot placed on the fallen man's chest, Gimli looked up at Erestor expectantly. "So? What's the next step, doing it _your way_?"

"Dwarvish realms are full of primitive customs, too."

Fortunately, Erestor now seemed to give up on the plan of sneaking up after all. Under Gimli's surprised look, he quickly tied back his shoulder-length, black hair and got rid just as quickly of the floor-length, very loose-fitting robe, revealing not only elven-untypical clothes – leather pants and a tight-fitted tunic – but also a belt with a sword and a long dagger fastened to it. "You need to be prepared for everything at a court of Men." With a movement not looking too well-trained, he unsheathed his dagger.

"What are we waiting for?"

"For you to properly learn how to fight." Gimli shook his head skeptically but stormed forward then.

If the elf insisted on throwing himself into a battle, though Gimli would have been perfectly able to take it up with a few men alone, he should. Erestor was _more_ than old enough to decide for himself.

Still, he was relieved that they were only being confronted with two more Stewardaides in Aragorn's chambers. The others had probably been sent away from the Citadel already so that in case of failure, it wouldn't be the whole group being taken prisoner. A handful of men sufficed to make sure, the King would stay in his chambers and didn't get any help.

The enemies eyed the two of them indecisively for a moment, surely wondering if they could flee but realizing that they were blocking the only exit. And these two had no intention to surrender; their pride and their faith in their mission were just too big for that. For becoming prisoners, too.

The men fought back so stubbornly, with so much violence and full use of their daggers that Gimli and Erestor had no choice but to kill these misguided men with quick strikes of their own blades as well.

Gimli didn't waste a second. Jumping over one of the bodies, he swung his ax once again and rammed it into the thick wood of the door to the sleeping chambers.

The splinters splattered in all directions, with such a loud noise that first, they couldn't understand the she-elf's voice from inside the room. "Lady Arwen?"

"Is that you, Gimli?"

"Personally and with help. Open the door, quickly."

For moments that felt like lifetimes, all they could hear was the creaking and grinding of furniture being moved before a face puffy with tears showed up in the door crack. "Wait, the cabinet …" Arwen was completely distraught; Gimli had never seen the she-elf by Aragorn's side like this, and it scared him a lot.

"Step away. The two of us will be faster." Gimli was pleasantly surprised that Erestor came to stand beside him at once. The little reprimand earlier seemed to have helped.

The elf's eyes were immediately on the King lying lifelessly on the floor once they had cleared the entrance. His expression only darkened when he examined Aragorn. A curse in a language long forgotten and forbidden escaped his lips.

Gimli looked at Arwen who had sunk back against the cabinet door, trembling. Given how pale as she was and how much blood was on her clothes, he couldn't tell if it was hers or Aragorn's. "Are you hurt?"

He wanted to approach the she-elf, but she harshly shook her head. "No, no. Help _him_! We have to get him to the Houses of Healing immediately. Are there Stewardaides still out there?"

"Not as far as we know. But can we even carry him in such a condition?"

Gimli had actually hoped to be able to rely on a certain elf's healing abilities, but Erestor seemed just as clueless as he was. "What is wrong with him exactly? That wound is but a scratch."

Erestor fixated Arwen questioningly as well, his fingertips ceaselessly resting at Aragorn's throat to make sure that his vital signs wouldn't weaken even more. "Milady?"

"Poisoned blade. Aragorn didn't know what that stuff is being called, only that it's rare and that nothing can help it." Arwen's pleading eyes caught the other elf's gaze. If there was someone at this court literate enough to maybe know even an antidote to such a brew, it was him. "Please, we have to do something …"

"Take the dagger to the Houses of Healing. With any luck, there's still some poison on it. The healers can try to find out what it consists of. I'll help them best as I can." Erestor visibly couldn't deal with the despair in his old friend's eyes anymore.

When he turned away, he saw Gimli darting to the door, finally a bundle of nerves himself. "Where are you going?"

"Kicking a few more soldiers awake so that the building is finally safe again. You two try to find out what these bastards used." Gimli didn't even wait for an answer.

He was so quick, screaming basically at every man in the hall still being capable of standing and walking so that they would follow him, that Aragorn hadn't even been taken away yet when he went back.

In visible shock, the first soldiers paused in the sleeping chambers that looked more like a battlefield tonight, not like the room that Gimli had once helped plan, build, and decorate for his Ring companion with so much love. The men quickly pulled themselves together though. A few of them, with surprisingly cautious hands, prepared Aragorn for the short transport on a stretcher that Erestor had already come up with. A way that would pose another strain for a badly battered body.

Several other warriors organized the search for Stewardaides possibly still being in the Citadel. And the others started to wake everyone in the King's House up and sound the alert.

Before the last man could hurry outside as well, he was being stopped by Erestor who only had to get in his way to make him pause. In spite of his eccentric manners, this elf had apparently evoked respect around here even before this day, thanks to his high position with Lord Elrond. And now that he had helped decide such an important battle, it seemed, the soldiers were happy to stand ready for him at last.

Which meant far fewer discussions in a crisis like this. "Wake up the Princess of Eryn Lasgalen."

"I'll save you that run, soldier." Arwen, already on her way to follow the men to the sixth level, turned her head once more. Anger and bitterness were in her eyes. "She took Brego and sneaked out of the city to search for her husband."

Another lengthy curse in this unknown language, the sound of which seemed to lower the temperature in the room a few degrees and had the fire in the chimney flicker dubiously, escaped Erestor.

When the librarian ran outside, he fell back into the common tongue but didn't use that one with much more kindness. " _What_ crimes have I committed to being punished with dealing with such a hysterical, impulsive … That's _enough_! I'll personally ship that delusional brat off to the west …"

Gimli clumsily patted Arwen's shoulder for a moment when they followed Erestor, after a disconcerted look at him, with a tired shrug. That was a center of conflict no one had time for right now.

"Aragorn will make it, trust me. He's tough." Gimli had to doubt his own words of reassurance though. After all, it was Arwen who had been in here the whole time. Given how despaired she seemed, maybe he had to begin allowing the thought of losing one more friend in his life.


End file.
